


Life's Lessons

by kronette



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story arc starting with <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/615989">Bittersweet Surrender</a> and then <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/616053">Power Play</a>. Methos doesn't do domesticity, so settling in with MacLeod has him nervous. He goes to extremes to get MacLeod to let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life's Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> The alias of Michael Litteken is my own creation. Do not use him in another story without my express written consent. Thanks to Sue G., Laurie, Pam and Bren for kicking me when I needed it, and giving invaluable info and help. Originally posted in 1996 under my other pseud, Shelley Wright.

**In Paris**

"So, will you practice with me?" Duncan asked as he dug his fingers into the bowl of popcorn on Methos' lap.

Methos snagged a handful and dropped the popped kernels one by one into his mouth. His nose crinkled in distaste as he swallowed. "You forgot the salt."

"Don't need it," Duncan replied, fighting down his grin. The oldest living Immortal hated anything that was healthy for him. "Are you at least ready to  _discuss_ it?"

Sighing heavily, Methos extracted himself from Duncan's side, handing MacLeod the bowl as he headed for the kitchen. Returning with the salt shaker, he settled back into MacLeod's side. Taking the bowl of popcorn back, he liberally salted it. "That's better," he murmured as he popped a kernel in his mouth.

"Methos," Duncan drawled with teasing impatience.

"Duncan," Methos matched his drawl. The Ancient Immortal shot Duncan a sideways glare, which turned into a roll of his eyes as MacLeod batted his eyelashes at him. "Oh, all right. _After_ the movie," he emphasized.

It was Duncan's turn to crinkle his nose. "I wouldn't mind discussing it now. Tell me why we're watching this again?"

"It's a classic!" Methos waved a popped kernel at the screen. " _Evil Dead_ is one of the classic campy horror films."

"I hate horror movies," Duncan mumbled.

Methos' eyebrows shot up. "How can you hate this? It's hysterical..." A sudden thought hit him. "You're not scared, are you?" He leaned forward, studying the other Immortal's expression. "You are," he breathed. "Oh, MacLeod," he moaned, fighting a laugh.

"It's not funny," Duncan declared haughtily. "It's stupid to try to scare yourself. Isn't the world scary enough as it is?"

"Lighten up, MacLeod." To emphasize his words, Methos smoothed Duncan's hair off his forehead, then leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose. "I promise to make it up to you later," he murmured huskily.

"Oh, do you now?" Duncan replied with a teasing smile, leaning up and kissing him lightly. He abruptly pulled back, glaring intently at the tv screen. "Then lets get to it, so we can get to it."

Laughing, Methos hit the play button. As they watched the movie unfold, Duncan's hand gripped Methos' arm, and Methos had to bite his lip to keep from snickering. Imagine, a four hundred year old man, scared by a horror movie! It was almost comical. As the movie wore on, Duncan's hand traveled lower on Methos' arm, finally settling at his hip. Duncan's other hand occasionally 'missed' the popcorn bowl between Methos' legs, rubbing enticingly at Methos' sex.

Methos' eyes grew heavy-lidded with arousal midway through the movie. His concentration was lost about thirty minutes from the end of the movie - due to MacLeod's hand stimulating him to aching hardness. He groaned softly as MacLeod deftly unzipped his fly and stroked him directly. Methos leaned his head back, his breath catching in his throat as Duncan leaned over him, kissing him deeply. The bowl of popcorn was removed from between them, and Duncan pressed against Methos firmly, letting the older Immortal feel his own aroused state.

"Methos, I want you now," Duncan rasped, kissing along Methos' slender neck, his hands at the other Immortal's waist.

Methos squirmed and fought down a wave of claustrophobia. His breath was coming faster and faster, and it wasn't due to arousal anymore. Duncan was pressing him into the couch, and Methos groaned and pushed against MacLeod's chest.

"Oh, are we going to play that game now?" Duncan teased, trying to capture Methos' hands.

"Please," Methos growled angrily, pushing against the Highlander more firmly.

MacLeod eased back, looking at the Ancient Immortal with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, frowning.

Methos glared up at MacLeod, fighting down his anger before Duncan sensed it. "Nothing. I just wanted to finish the movie, is all."

"That is not all," Duncan retorted. "We didn't finish the other four," he reminded the other Immortal.

Methos stifled a frustrated sigh. "Oh, all right. You got me." He shot Duncan his best coy look. "This couch is so narrow. I need more room to stretch my - legs," he purred, reaching out and stroking a hand up Duncan's thigh provocatively.

Duncan grinned, his eyes narrowed with lust as he slipped off the couch, tugging Methos to his feet. "I believe the nice, big bed would be more to your liking."

"Hm, an excellent choice," Methos smiled his approval, kissing MacLeod all the way into the bedroom.

~~~~~~

Joe Dawson sat behind his desk, acutely aware of the other person in the office with him. In actuality, an Immortal. The oldest living Immortal.

Normally, Joe would be in a verbal sparring match with Methos, but now, his gaze was focused on book in front of him. It bore the Watcher's seal; MacLeod's latest journal. His index finger traced the symbol that had meant so much to him, that had kept him alive and sane so many years ago. The one that now threatened to tear apart his friendship with Duncan MacLeod...and Methos.

"Joe, how did you know where to find me?"

Joe raised his eyes to meet the ancient ones across from him. Four days. He had wondered how long it would be before Methos asked that question of him. For four days, Methos and MacLeod had been holed up in the barge. Joe knew MacLeod, so he had a pretty good idea of what the Immortals' reunion party had entailed.

As Joe regarded the Immortal, he sensed a change in Methos. He had always sensed raw sensuality just beneath that quick wit, but hints of it were leaking through now. Especially when Methos fixed him with his unfathomable eyes. Joe shifted uncomfortably, bringing his attention back to why Methos had visited him. He wanted answers. When they were all on the bridge, trying to explain that everything was just an elaborate plan to get Methos and MacLeod back together, well...details had slipped through the cracks. And now Methos waited, slumped in the chair across from the Watcher, chewing on his fingernail.

Despite the tenseness he could sense from the Ancient Immortal, Joe couldn't resist getting in a slight dig. "That'll ruin your nails."

"They'll grow back," Methos answered distractedly.

Joe took a long look at Methos, and decided the time for levity was past. "You had to explain your abrupt leaving to the Watchers. They - of course - kept records of your new identity. Being a nosy old man, I dug around until I found it."

"Of course," Methos murmured around his fingernail. "Next time, I'll resign the Watchers."

Joe blinked in mild surprise. "You'd give it up that fast?"

Methos shrugged. "Sure. It was just a cover. I don't exactly owe them my loyalty."

Joe bristled a bit at Methos' casual brush-off of an organization to which he had devoted half his life. "No, you don't."

'I may have to leave them soon, anyway. I'm not getting any older," Methos remarked, before his ears pricked up. There was something in Joe's voice, an edge to it, which drew the Immortal out of his introspection. "You upset at something, Joe?"

"Yeah, a little." Deciding he really didn't want to get into a debate about the Watchers and this particular Immortal's connections to them, Joe changed the subject slightly. "Why'd you decide to join the Watchers, anyway?"

A rare, bright smile crossed Methos' features. "A friend of mine, long ago, was a Watcher."

Dawning understanding caused Joe to nod slowly. "So that's how you knew about us."

Methos nodded, slumping further down in the chair. "He and I met one rainy day, huddled under shelter. We struck up a conversation - it was one of those all-day torrential downpours - and parted as friends. We met occasionally to discuss the current happenings about town, politics, things of that nature. One day, I was to meet him for midday meal. An Immortal chose that exact moment to come after my head. Damn bastard wouldn't listen to any reason I offered. Wouldn't even consider taking it to a more private place."

Methos paused, sipping at his ever-present beer bottle before continuing. "As the Quickening faded, my friend came over to me, asking if there was anything he could do to help. I was afraid I would have to explain what exactly had happened to me. I figured I could say it was a lightning storm, but...it turned out I didn't have to say anything at all. He already knew what I was." Methos paused, his gaze turning inward as he remembered, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

"Because he was your Watcher," Joe stated quietly.

Methos laughed bitterly. "Because he was my Watcher. Because he had been following me around for seven years, and I never suspected," he snapped impatiently, sitting upright with the force of his words. He settled back down as he continued, "I had been pretty discreet, keeping my Immortality hidden unless it was absolutely necessary. But being challenged so obviously, I had no choice."

The Immortal paused, and Joe felt the need to fill the silence. "I know," he responded quietly. "It's not always easy when a challenge happens in front of friends."

Methos stared at his beer bottle, eyes narrowed. "He was more than a friend," he whispered, his voice scratchy. He cleared his throat as he lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow.

Joe's eyes widened as he realized what Methos was telling him. "You were lovers."

This time, Methos' reaction was a weary sigh. "We started as just friends, but the more we talked, the closer we became. I think it was about a year after we first met in that rainstorm that he approached me with The Proposition." He paused, sighing. "We were quite content until I was challenged. Then, as they say, the proverbial shit hit the equally proverbial fan. All our secrets were exposed. His knowledge of Immortals, and my shock at the Watchers Organization. That took awhile to reconcile." His gaze drifted off as he lost himself in the memories. "I wanted to know everything about the Watchers. How long they had existed. What their purpose was. And he was just as intensely curious about us. He wanted to know more about me. What it felt like. Living, knowing that there was only one way for me to die. Being unafraid of death. What I thought of the changes in the world. It was..."

"Unnerving?" Joe supplied quietly. It certainly would be...and it was everything he'd like to sit down and discuss with MacLeod...or even Methos, someday. But today wasn't that day.

Methos again nodded. "It was like being asked what I thought of the creation of the universe. 'Oh, seemed like a good idea at the time.' What could I say?" he shrugged. "But, that only lasted a few weeks. We eventually calmed down and resumed our relationship. We remained together for quite a few years...until I left."

Joe leaned forward. He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice as he exclaimed, "You left him?"

The Immortal's gaze slid away from Joe's, lowering his voice until he was practically growling. "I had to. We were too close; other Immortals could have used him against me. I cared too much for him to put him in that position." Methos' hand clenched around his nearly empty beer bottle. "One thing I hate about loving mortals; their expendability."

Joe immediately took up defense. "Hey, mortals have those same problems. You never know when a loved one will be used against you, especially if you have money or power. It's the way of the world," he tried reasoning with the Immortal, but he wasn't in the mood to listen.

"Yeah, I suppose so," Methos grumbled, finishing off his beer. He leaned forward, setting the empty bottle on the edge of the desk. Shifting his position in the chair, he asked the next questions he'd come to have answered. "Who was the Immortal I killed? And where was his Watcher?"

Joe was fully prepared to answer those questions. First, he assured Methos that the Immortal's Watcher had been on vacation, nowhere near America at the time. Then he gave reports of the Immortal's stupidity through the fifty years he'd been alive. Accounts of picked fights, usually with younger Immortals, and a few near-Quickenings, but the Immortal had always run away, scared. He was a coward, afraid to live and afraid to die.

"I guess in a way, he died better than he lived," Dawson finished with a wry smile.

Methos didn't react to the humor. His eyes narrowed at he regarded the Watcher. "I would still have felt better if I had gotten some advanced notice. You couldn't have called to warn me?" Joe stared at him for a full minute, before Methos' patent smirk appeared. "Of course not. That would have ruined everything." He paused again, regarding Joe with faint amusement. "You were that certain I would win?"

"The alternative was unthinkable," Joe replied, a slow smile creeping its way across his features.

The two friends fell silent, until Methos finally raised his eyes to meet Joe's. Now he asked the last question he had for his friend. "Why did you do it?" he asked quietly.

Joe tilted his head, regarding the Immortal. "Why did I join forces with the Valicourts to get you two back together?"

Methos glanced away, inhaling slowly, then caught and held Joe's gaze. "Yes."

Joe wondered about the look that crossed the Ancient Immortal's face before he looked away, but didn't push it. Instead, he slowly nodded. "Fair enough. It's as I said up there on the bridge. MacLeod brooded constantly when you left. As his friend, I had to do something to snap him out of it. And the only way I could see to do it was to bring you back."

"I really mean that much to him." It wasn't a question, more a confirmation of a theory.

Joe hesitated, studying the Immortal across from him. Methos' head was lowered, his eyes focused on his hand as he plucked at the hem of his trenchcoat. Joe's head unconsciously swung from side to side, wondering how someone so old could still be so unaware. He answered quietly, but forcefully, "Yes, you do."

Methos' head snapped up then, his eyes narrowed in anger. "That's dangerous."

Joe jerked his head toward the Immortal. "For him or for you?"

"For both of us," Methos finally answered, his gaze never wavering from Joe's.

Joe squirmed uncomfortably in his chair under Methos' intense scrutiny. Unable to take it anymore, he asked, "So what are you going to do about it?"

A pause no longer than a heartbeat, then Methos announced quietly, "I'll leave."

"You can't!" Joe's sudden outburst startled Methos, but the Watcher was too intent on moving to notice. Rising out of his chair, he circled the desk to stand before Methos. "You don't know what it'll do to him. It's only been a few years since Tessa's death, and Richie's first death. Then there was Darius and Fitzcairn. I don't think he can take another person disappearing out of his life."

"And why is that my concern?" Methos glared up at Joe, his eyes sparkling with anger.

"Because you care about him," Joe answered confidently.

"That doesn't mean I'm his keeper," Methos snapped impatiently. "He's over 400 years old, I think he'll manage."

Joe sighed, leaning against the side of the desk. He looked anywhere but directly at the Immortal as he answered, "Maybe."

Methos' eyes narrowed as he regarded Joe. There was a hint of anger in his voice as he demanded, "Do you know something I don't?"

The Watcher gazed steadily at Methos, his hands resting on top of his cane. "Maybe. I guess it depends on how much you pay attention to MacLeod's moods."

Methos snorted indelicately. "The Brooding MacLeod? Moods? Never would have guessed."

Joe shook his head slightly. "I think you're hiding your true feelings behind all this sarcasm and biting wit."

Methos rose to his feet. "Thanks for the psychoanalysis, but I think I prefer Freud. At least he said I had latent sexual feelings about my mother." He turned to leave.

Joe tossed back at him, "Sorry I'm not as entertaining."

Methos paused, a short laugh escaping him as he shook his head. "Not a problem."

"Michael," Joe snapped harshly, then his voice softened to a whisper. "Methos, I'm going to tell you something I've noticed. I might be wrong, but I've been watching MacLeod for seventeen years, so I think I know him pretty well. He's in love with you."

Methos' hand tightened painfully on the doorknob.  _He did not just say what I heard him say_. His face carefully arranged in neutrality, Methos turned around. "What are you basing that on? Has he said anything?"

Joe kept his gaze locked on Methos' face. "No, he hasn't said a word. It's in his actions, in his voice when he talks about you. In his eyes when he looks at you."

Methos felt an intense desire to turn and run out the door, but fought it. "Joe, you sound like a cheesy song from the 1950s," he cracked.

"But I'm right, aren't I?" Joe moved then, walking up to Methos and invading his personal space slightly. "You've noticed it too. That's why you're starting to make excuses. You want to leave before it hits you."

Methos was barely breathing, unable to break his gaze away from Joe's. "What hits me?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

Joe responded softly, "That you might love him back."

Methos felt his world drop out from under him, and tried desperately to control his emotions. He spluttered, "Joe, that's preposterous. I can't love him. I swore I wouldn't get involved with one of us..."

The Watcher regarded the Immortal with a soft smile. "You, of all people, should know you can't control the heart. Look at what you did for Alexa."

Methos immediately sobered, his posture altering slightly to the defensive. "Don't, Joe."

Joe's voice grew husky as he remembered his former waitress - the woman he thought of as a daughter. "Methos, you gave her a life to live. You made her feel special. You made her happy. I couldn't have asked for anything better for her. Don't tell me you didn't love her."

Methos felt his eyes stinging and finally broke eye contact, staring intently at the floor, trying to dam the rush of emotions that welled up inside him.  _Damn, it's only been a year_. "Please..." he whispered.

Joe kept going, plowing through all of Methos' defenses at once. "I saw the way you looked at her; the way you held her hand. It's the same way MacLeod looks at you, and the way you look at him."

"Joe..." Methos threatened, though his voice wavered.

Joe stepped closer, putting a hand on Methos' shoulder. "You don't have to tell MacLeod. Hell, you don't even have to admit it to yourself. Just don't leave him," he pleaded softly.

Methos stared hard at the floor, barely feeling Joe's touch. A thousand emotions swirled inside him, and his Quickening sparked with life as he thought of MacLeod. That gave him the strength he needed to answer the way he had to. He raised his eyes to Joe, who was flexing his hand and looking at him strangely.

"Quickening," Methos answered Joe's unasked question, nodding to his hand.

Joe flinched, feeling the last of the electricity pass out of him. Not an entirely unpleasant sensation, but he guessed he had only gotten a tiny taste of what it was like.

Methos' expression hardened as he faced Joe. "This isn't good for either of us. We'll be used against each other. MacLeod has more enemies than I've had friends in my entire lifetime. If I'm with MacLeod, people are going to start coming after my head as well as his. And what happens then?" Methos got right in Joe's face. "I don't want to die." His eyes shown with life, his face gravely serious.

"No one does," Joe commented lightly.

Methos' gaze flicked over Joe's features, then he abruptly switched gears, his face settling into hard lines. "I'll make MacLeod throw me out."

"He'd never do that," Joe scoffed, though he caught the change in the Immortal's gaze. Hard, unfeeling, and deadly serious.

"I'll give him no choice," Methos stated flatly, though far too lightly.

Methos' tone set off warning bells inside the mortal's head. "How do you plan to do that?"

A glint of danger lurked in Methos' eyes. "Oh, I have no intention of telling  _you_ , Joe. I don't trust you."

Dawson's jaw fell open and he nearly staggered on his feet. "Don't  _trust_ me? How many other people know who you really are? I've kept your secret, and I'll keep it to my grave," he swore, breathing heavy with his anger.

Methos' voice was quiet, yet tinged with anger as he fought to control his emotions. "This is a different form of trust, Joe. I trusted you to let me leave. And you betrayed that trust."

"I was doing what I thought was best for MacLeod; for both of you," Joe explained.

"Well, in case you missed it, I am five thousand years old. I think I can make my own decisions." Methos' gaze hardened as he regarded the Watcher. "I'll know how much I can trust you by your actions. If MacLeod starts behaving strangely around me, I'll know you talked to him about this. And neither of you will ever hear of the legendary Methos again." With that, he turned and left Joe's office, the Watcher gaping after him.

"Damn," he hissed, thumping his cane on the floor. That had not gone well at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Methos paced in the living area of the barge, his thoughts racing. MacLeod was running around Paris, doing all the things he had put off while he and Methos got 'reacquainted', and wouldn't be back until later that evening. Which left Methos plenty of time to think. His conversation with Joe replayed in his head, over and over. Joe had been right, about more than the Immortal cared to realize. But, he could also never understand. No one alive could. Methos, the ever-elusive; Methos the mythical legend, had fallen into a predictable pattern. And a sure way to lose one's head was to get too predictable.

He stopped in the middle of the living area, staring out the portal at the late afternoon sun. He was too comfortable. That was the problem. Methos was growing used to MacLeod; used to being around him, joking with him... making love with him. Arousal flared through him, his Quickening tingling with sensation.

"Oh, Mother Goddess," Methos whispered into the air, his face twisted in anguish. He sank to his knees, resting his hands on his thighs. He had two choices: leave, or stay. If he left, his life would be much, much easier - and much more empty. If he stayed, life would get complicated fast. He hadn't exaggerated when he told Joe about MacLeod's magnet-like attraction for other Immortals. He wasn't sure if he was ready to abandon his secluded life, to expose himself to other Immortals yet. He watched the sun set, his mind in turmoil.

When MacLeod came home that night, Methos met him at the door with his drawn broadsword.

"I once told you to live. To grow stronger." He handed the sword, hilt first, to MacLeod. "Now I'm asking you to help  _me_ grow stronger," the oldest living Immortal hissed to the utterly shocked Highlander.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey Joe," Duncan MacLeod called out as he entered the bar. It was close to closing time, and the bar was nearly empty.

Joe Dawson came out from behind the bar, nodding to two of the remaining couples. "MacLeod. What brings you by this late at night?"

Duncan walked up to the bar and sat on a stool, inviting Joe to join him. "I just wanted to let you know we -- Michael and I -- are heading back to the States tomorrow."

Joe's laughter cut through the quiet of the bar. His eyes twinkled at the Immortal as he teased, "Paris isn't romantic enough for you?"

One of Duncan's eyebrows raised, and he tried to curb his smile. "Funny Dawson. No, Paris is fine, but we need the change of scenery." He lowered his voice. "Too many people know him here as Adam."

Joe nodded slowly, thinking for a minute. "That's actually a good idea. I've been missing the old haunts myself; I'll probably go back in the next few days."

"I thought you were getting used to Paris," the Immortal questioned, his brow furrowing as he frowned.

"Used to, yeah. But this isn't home. Seacouver is," Joe explained. "You know how it is."

Duncan thought of his homeland, and felt the wistful pull again. "Aye, I do." Shaking off his ghosts, he smiled. "So I guess I'll see you in a few days."

"Looks like it." Joe rose to his feet, MacLeod following. They shook hands, then Duncan left in a whoosh of trenchcoat.

Joe wondered for possibly the millionth time why those long coats never got caught in closing doors.  _Maybe it has something to do with their Immortality,_ he mused to himself, then chuckled.  _Not everything can be explained by that_. He paused in reaching for a glass. Maybe he  _would_ ask MacLeod where he bought his coats...

Joe said goodnight to the last couple, then locked the doors. He had some phone calls to make before he headed back to the States. He booked a flight for the next afternoon, and finished up as much of his Watcher business as he could. Then he debated about the bar. Though only open for a short time, it had developed a small, but loyal patronage. He made a note to call his partner in the morning. He could watch the place while Joe was in America, and Joe trusted him.

While he was packing, Richie's Watcher called with an update. The Immortal was at the airport in Bombay, getting ready to board a plane to America. It seemed the best place Dawson could be was America, and hopefully, he could keep Methos from ditching MacLeod along the way. But first, he needed sleep. Making sure everything was turned off, Joe headed to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Final boarding for Flight 830, destination JFK International."

Duncan MacLeod turned to Methos, tossing his bag over his shoulder. "That's us."

"Yeah," Methos answered distractedly, taking another quick look around the terminal.

Duncan caught Methos' scrutiny of the surrounding area, and chuckled. "Afraid your old landlord is after you for past rent?"

Methos shot Duncan a baleful glare. "No," he snapped sarcastically. "I have a feeling we're being watched."

"We're Immortals; I'm sure someone is watching us," Duncan rolled his eyes.

" _You're_ being watched," Methos corrected him. "I am a Watcher." He shifted uneasily as they walked to the gate. "I don't like being the one who is watched."

"Relax," Duncan tried to soothe him. "Even if someone is watching me, you're barely known in Watcher circles. You're safe."

"True," Methos murmured, flicking his gaze one last time around the terminal before following MacLeod down the ramp to the plane.

Joe Dawson tucked his book back into his duffel bag, then went to his own gate. He had done enough watching for one afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~

**Two days later in Seacover**

"Hey Joe!" Richie Ryan breezed through the door to _Joe's_ , greeting the owner.

Joe turned quickly, brightening as the young man approached. "Richie, good to see you again," he beamed, walking over and shaking the Immortal's hand. He indicated the table nearest them. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." Richie turned the chair around, straddling it and leaning his arms on the back. His smile turned to a puzzled frown as he regarded the Watcher. "Weren't you in Paris?"

Joe chuckled. "Yeah, but I've had my fill of life abroad. I was more than ready to come home."

Richie's slight frown deepened. "Wish I could say the same. But Horowitz found me, and that was the end of my vacation," he finished with a grimace.

Joe sat down with a soft sigh, finally regarding the young Immortal across from him. "I'm sorry." It might not have been appropriate, but he felt it was necessary. It paid off, as a smile tugged at the young man's lips.

"Thanks Joe. India really was incredible," he sighed wistfully.

Joe leaned back, settling himself comfortably. "So tell me about it. I've never been to India."

Richie's eyes sparkled as he launched into vivid descriptions of his adventures in the mystical country. His expression darkened as told of the few Immortals he had come across, briefly telling Joe how each of the fights had started. He didn't need to tell him how they ended. The last he talked about was Horowitz.

Sighing, Richie finished up with, "I didn't plan on taking anyone's head, but it seemed like after awhile, that was all I was doing."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Joe interjected softly, drawing the young Immortal's gaze. "Four heads in that amount of time rivals even MacLeod's record." At Richie's somewhat quizzical expression, Joe smiled wryly. "What? You forget who I work for?"

That brought a smile to Richie's face. "No, I didn't forget. I'm just surprised it got as far as you."

"Hey, I know your Watcher pretty well, and she's good about letting me know what you're up to." Joe leaned forward, an eyebrow cocked. "And don't go giving her a hard time again! It took her two weeks to find you outside Madras!"

At that, Richie burst out laughing. "Tell her I'm sorry. But I didn't know who was after me." His expression sobered into a slight frown. "I didn't want to take any chances. I didn't want her to get hurt."

Joe regarded the Immortal across from him, taking in the new-found confidence; the maturity. Richie had not only acquired a few heads in India, it appeared he had done some serious growing up as well. His gaze turned thoughtful. "Richie, have you seen MacLeod yet?"

The redhead shook his head. "Nope. The dojo was closed, so I assumed he was still in Paris."

Joe had to bite his lower lip to keep from commenting as he wanted. "He's there," he replied tersely.

"Really?" Richie perked up, rising out of the chair. "Great! I'll go by and see him..." he glanced down in surprise at Joe's grip on his forearm. Looking into Joe's eyes, he frowned.

"There's something you need to know first," Joe explained, his voice carrying concern, anger, hurt and worry.

Richie sank back down into his chair, completely baffled. "Joe? What's up? Is something wrong with Mac?" The Watcher's intensity was setting him on edge.

"That depends." Joe shifted his troubled eyes away from the young man, unsure of himself now that he brought it up.

Richie spread his hands flat on the table between them. "Is someone after him? What? Joe, tell me."

"All right, all right. It looks like I opened the floodgate." Joe ran a hand through his beard, scratching at his chin. "How well do you know Adam Pierson?"

Startled by the sudden question, Richie leaned back, thinking. "Not real good. He was always hanging around the barge when I was in Paris. Saw him a bit here, but not much. Pretty quiet, kept to himself, but friendly when he wanted to be." He suddenly grinned. "He gave me what had to be his entire CD collection." His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "He didn't challenge Mac, did he?"

Despite himself, Joe smiled. "No. At least, not in the way you're thinking. But that's MacLeod's story to tell. I just wanted to know your opinion of him."

"He's an okay guy, I suppose," Richie shrugged, though he frowned and his eyes narrowed. "What made you bring him up? I thought you were going to tell me about Mac."

Joe took a deep breath, ready to spill everything about Methos, then stopped. It wasn't his place, and besides, if word got back to Methos, it would be the end of everything. The Watcher forced himself to smile, shaking his head. "I'm being overly dramatic. There's nothing wrong with MacLeod. The thing is, he's seeing someone."

"Well, that's great," Richie commented. "It's about time, too," he grinned, leaning closer with an air of conspiracy. "Do I know who it is?"

"Uh-uh," Joe laughed teasingly, "I'm not telling. If you want to know, ask him yourself. Right now, I have to finish setting up. I open in a few minutes."

"Want some help?" Richie offered, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"Free labor? Are you crazy?" Joe laughed and pushed Richie toward the other tables, where the chairs still rested on the tabletops. "Get to work!"

"Yes sir!" Richie snapped to attention, giving a jaunty salute before grinning and starting to take down chairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dojo was heavy with the sound of moving bodies and clacking wood. Short grunts and curses leaked into the concentration of the two combatants. Actually, Duncan was doing most of the cursing. Methos was eerily quiet, his concentration intense.

The Ancient Immortal swung completely around, ducking left as Duncan's quarterstaff whined past his ear. His staff smashed into the Highlander's side, drawing a gasp upon contact. Methos immediately followed through, swinging up and connecting with MacLeod's jaw. An audible crack resounded in the dojo, jerking Duncan back as he winced in pain.

"Damn, Methos, take it easy," he warned none-too-gently.

For the past two hours, the oldest living Immortal had grown more intense, more viscous and less tentative about pulling punches. Duncan was glad to see the change, but his body was screaming otherwise. Methos was a quick study, able to adapt within minutes to any strategy that MacLeod threw at him. And he had the bruises to prove it.

Methos didn't answer; his staff sang through the air as he twirled it before him. With his narrowed eyes and firmly clenched jaw, the Immortal looked deadly.

Duncan blinked; positive he had seen wrong. There hadn't been bloodlust in Methos' eyes; it had just been a trick of the light. But the next flurry of attacks left him breathless and with at least one cracked rib.

"Take it easy!" MacLeod repeated loudly, wiping blood from his mouth. Methos had gone beyond reason; he was reacting purely on instinct, survival instinct, and Duncan thought of stopping the exercise. But something told him to keep going. He wanted to see how far Methos would go. Settling himself back into fighting stance, Duncan prepared to defend himself. He settled his gaze into Methos', and shivered at the utter blankness that shone back.

**outside Ur, Sumarian city-state, approx. 3060 BC**

_Protect the village! Protect_. Methos gave a sharp battle-cry as he entered the fray, staffs and short axes being used to drive back the attackers. It was a small invasion, but the village being invaded was small. The villagers quickly surrounded the attackers, drawing them into a tighter circle. From the center of the fighting, Methos gradually fought his way back to the outskirts, and immediately looked wildly about him. A strange Buzzing set his head on fire, and he howled with pain. A similar sound echoed to his left, and he whirled, staring intently. A man, blood thick on his hands and his axe, let the dead woman slide out of his fingers. He stared back at Methos, growling softly.

Methos felt hatred rise to his throat, and he gave a mighty yell, hurling himself at the other man. He attacked, pummeling the invader ruthlessly with his staff, not feeling the blows that landed on his own person. His entire being dissolved to one purpose: killing the man who had just killed his wife. The staff was knocked out of his hand and he dropped to the ground, rolling away from the man's blows. Methos' hand closed around some dirt; he threw it into the other man's face. Howling with pain and rage, the man scrubbed at his eyes while Methos tackled him to the ground. Unthinking, Methos' hands curled around a rock and he started stabbing him, not stopping as the blood gushed from the man's chest, splashing over his own tunic, soaking him. Methos sobbed, pouring his rage and hurt into his task, beyond human reason as he hacked the man to death...

The bloody rock slipped out of his hands as the air changed around him. A white mist rose from the man's body and Methos backed away, scared. He had nearly decapitated him; his entire body above the shoulders was mangled flesh and bone floating in blood. The mist whirled playfully around him, settling over his skin. Methos grew warm, flushing darkly as the mist entered him, startling another cry out of him.  _Help_ , he cried in an ancient language no longer remembered, to a people who could no longer help him, as his first Quickening hit him full force, draining the life force out of him, filling him with dazzling fire, intense pleasure, and unbearable pain. A primal scream was ripped from his lungs, howling with the rage of the dead, of the Immortal, and he finally realized what it was all about. Why his wounds healed quickly. Why those around him aged, and he did not. Why he always awoke from Eternal Sleep...There Can Be Only One...

"Where in the hell did you learn that move?" MacLeod demanded from his prone position on the floor. His quarterstaff lay a few feet from his hand, knocked there by the sheer force of Methos' block. Duncan's eyes focused on the end of Methos' staff, hovering inches from his throat, and for the first time felt uneasy in the other Immortal's presence.

Methos blinked. The haze of the memory was leaving him, and he stared down at MacLeod in stunned silence. "I - I'm not quite sure," he answered thickly. "It was my village, and I was defending it..." he shook his head. "It's an old memory," the Ancient Immortal finished quietly, holding out his hand.

Grasping it, Duncan was carefully helped to his feet. He immediately leaned over, gathering his breath. "Aren't they all old with you?" MacLeod teased, trying to ease the tension that had settled between the two Immortals.

Methos seemed to be gathering himself. A very tiny smile quirked his lips, and he murmured, "I suppose they are." Finally shaking off his flashback, he eyed MacLeod's injuries. "I take it you'll live?" he asked a bit too lightly, concern lighting his eyes.

"Yes, but I thought I was supposed to be teaching  _you_ ," Duncan snarled good-naturedly, letting Methos know he was willing to forget it.

A slight flicker of emotion passed over Methos' face, then he grinned broadly, intensely relieved. "Oh, you  _are_ teaching me, Highlander. You're teaching me the best ways to take a fall!" With that taunt, Methos grabbed Duncan's arms, planted his foot square on the Highlander's chest, and flipped him.

Rolling back to his feet, Methos turned at the grunt, then groan, coming from Duncan. "You all right?" Methos asked, moving closer with concern. His foot was quickly yanked out from under him, and Methos landed flat on his back with an 'oof'. He remained on the mat, breathing heavily. "Not bad," he commented when he had breath again.

"Not bad yourself," Duncan complimented him, pulling himself to his feet, dragging Methos to his. "Done for the day?"

"Yeah," Methos laughed shortly. "You go on. I want to do some stretching for awhile."

"All right. Don't strain anything you might need later," Duncan teased, running his hand along Methos' ass.

"Hey!" the Ancient Immortal protested, slapping the Highlander's hand away. "No sampling the merchandise!"

"But what if I want to buy it?" Duncan purred in his ear, trying to get his arms around the other Immortal.

Methos pushed him away, keeping his expression carefully controlled. "We'll discuss price later. Go on, take a shower. One of us smells like a horse."

Duncan snorted, then wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Yeah, and I think it's you," he quipped before leaving the dojo and heading upstairs.

Methos' eyes followed him out, the sheer force of his flashback drawing his concern once more. It wasn't easy to forget your first Quickening; for Methos, it was the only thing he remembered from so long ago. His mind struggled once again to recall anything; a name, a face, a taste, a smell, but all he could remember was the faintness of a hot breeze, and the feel of blood slick on his hands. Wiping his hands on his sweatpants, he forced his mind back to the present. He had some things to take care of, and MacLeod's departure had left him the perfect opening.

Methos went into MacLeod's office, peering through the stacks of paperwork for the phone. Picking up the receiver, he dialed Watcher HQ for the Western US, asking for Richie Ryan's Watcher.

"Hello Janine, this is Michael Litteken. Yes, I know it's a bit unusual, but I've been hearing some unusual things about this Richie Ryan. Taking a lot of heads is he?" Methos waited for her brief explanation, then answered her own questions. "My research into Methos lead me to India. He's quite possibly been there for months. Did you identify all those Ryan killed?" He paused again, nodding absently as she quickly rattled off the four men's names. "I see. Well," he stopped as she interrupted him, and his eyebrows raised. "Oh really? He left the country? Then there's no reason for me to worry then, eh?" he joked lightly. Her laughter joined his. "You don't happen to know where he was headed, do you?" he asked nonchalantly. "Really? Ah, I see. Well, thank you very much. I'll see you at the next party." He laughed. "I'll do that. Bye."

Setting the receiver back on the cradle, he quickly skimmed the rolodex. Picking the receiver back up, he dialed Richie's number. The machine picked up, and Methos was short and to the point. "Richie, this is Adam Pierson. I'm back in the States and I need to talk to you. It's about MacLeod. Meet me in the dojo tomorrow, around four." Hesitating a second, he hung up the phone.

~~~~~~~

 _Joe's_ was crowded for a Wednesday night, and Duncan had to weave through the crowd to get to the bar. Blues music was drifting through the people like a mist, adding to the dark, intimate atmosphere.

"Hey Joe," Duncan greeted the man behind the bar.

Dawson grinned up at him, his hands unconsciously finishing the drink he was mixing. "Get you a drink?"

"Sure, a beer." Duncan settled on a barstool, his head unconsciously swaying to the music. "The bar looks none the worse for wear," he commented.

"Yeah, well, Mike's pretty good at watching the place," Joe remarked lightly; no reason MacLeod needed to know Mike was a Watcher also. He set a glass of beer in front of the Immortal. "So, what brings you by? Can't get enough of my handsome face?" Joe teased.

Duncan took a sip of his drink before answering. "Can't I just stop by for a drink and talk to an old friend?" At Joe's raised eyebrow, MacLeod grinned. "I guess not," he answered himself wryly. "All right, I'm worried about Richie. Have you heard from him lately?"

Joe frowned. What should he tell MacLeod? That Richie had stopped by already, and he had warned him something was up? Probably not if he wanted to keep his head. "Last I heard, he left India. In one piece," he added, seeing MacLeod was starting to slip into a dark mood.

"Well, that's good to hear. Maybe he'll show up at the dojo," Duncan mused hopefully. He suddenly grinned. "I hope he doesn't show up when Methos is practicing."

Joe set the glass he was holding down on the bar before he dropped it. "Practicing?" He expressed his disbelief with a shake of his head.

Duncan's smile widened. "I know. Hard for me to believe too." His smile faded to a concerned frown. "Something happened to him in Paris. He..."

"Mac," Joe interrupted softly. "I know you probably don't realize this, but it's hard for me to hear about him. Being in my profession and all."

MacLeod blinked at the Watcher. "What?"

Joe sighed wearily. "I know who Michael really is. It goes against every instinct I have, not to write down every bit of information I come across. I'm sorry Mac, but it's better if I don't know."

Duncan didn't know what to say to that. "Oh," was all he could come up with, hiding the awkward moment by finishing off his beer. "Well then, I guess I'll be seeing you, Joe."

"Yeah, see ya," the Watcher replied, taking the empty glass from the spot MacLeod left, silently cursing the oldest living Immortal for putting him in this situation.

~~~~~~~

Duncan felt Methos' Buzz as he stepped off the elevator and entered the loft. He strode over to the Immortal sitting on the couch and leaned over the back. "Hey," he whispered softly, giving Methos a lazy kiss on the side of his neck.

Methos waved a hand distractedly. "Hey yourself."

Methos was engrossed in a book, and upon closer inspection, MacLeod discovered it was on Tai Chi. "You're studying?" he stammered in disbelief.

Methos grunted in answer, moving his right arm in imitation of a move pictured.

"You're starting to scare me," Duncan teased. When that got no reaction, he paused, studying Methos for a minute. The Ancient Immortal was absorbed in the book, blocking Duncan's presence completely. Sighing, MacLeod brooded around the loft, waiting for Methos to acknowledged him.

After about ten minutes, Methos tossed the book onto the table in frustration. "All right, out with it MacLeod. If you brood any more, it'll start to rain in here."

Duncan sighed plaintively. "Is it that obvious?" he asked as he flopped dramatically into the easy chair.

Methos rolled his eyes. "Quit fishing, Highlander," he warned, crossing over to the other Immortal, hands on hips, glaring down at him. "Out with it. What happened?"

"It's Joe." MacLeod didn't offer any more information.

Methos kneeled by the chair, concern reflected in his features. "Is something wrong?"

Duncan shook his head. "No, not that I can tell. He just..." his voice drifted off, and he slid his gaze away from the other Immortal.

"What?" Methos whispered, leaning his chin on the arm of the chair and taking one of MacLeod's hands in his own.

Duncan rubbed his thumb over Methos' hand. "I started to tell him about us practicing, but he didn't want to hear about it."

"Why?" Methos asked, perplexed.

"Remember his promise to you, to keep your identity a secret?" Duncan waited for Methos to nod, then continued. "He takes that seriously. But it's also bothering him that he can't record anything about you."

"Well, I can sort of see his point. It's his job to keep records on us," Methos reminded him gently.

"That's never stopped him before," MacLeod snapped, then sighed. "No, that's not fair."

"No, it's not," Methos answered quietly. He studied MacLeod's posture, deciding that he was well into brooding and was working himself into full-blown poutiness. Running his hand up MacLeod's arm, he whispered, "Come to bed, Highlander. Maybe I can get your mind off Joe Dawson."

Arousal flared through Duncan's Quickening, and his eyes shone with desire. "Now there's an idea..." he breathed as he leaned down.

A feral smile curled Methos' lips. "Glad you think so..." he murmured, just before Duncan's lips closed over his. Moaning, Methos rubbed his hand up MacLeod's chest, tracing the hard lines. His other hand was still clasped in Duncan's, and MacLeod's grip tightened as the Highlander rose.

Methos looked askance at the Scotsman from his kneeling position on the floor. He felt the arousal through their Quickenings, through the added skin contact, and he shifted slightly to accommodate his growing erection.

Duncan felt Methos' gaze on his body, and a shiver went through him. "Come to bed," he murmured, tugging gently on Methos' hand. Without a word, Methos rose and followed him, pulling the comforter down and stretching out along the exposed sheets.

Duncan kneeled on the side of the bed, settling himself carefully over the other Immortal. Methos arched his back, silently asking for more contact. Duncan obliged him, lowering himself over the other man. Dipping his head, he started sucking at Methos' neck, taking gentle nips here and there.

Methos' hands rubbed MacLeod's back, running up through his hair. When Duncan started biting, his hands tightened in the long hair, his breath coming in short gasps. He arched his neck, exposing himself more, silently pleading for MacLeod to move lower.

Duncan levered himself off of Methos, tugging his shirt off as he kneeled. Capturing Methos' hands, he pulled the other Immortal to a sitting position. Stealing a quick kiss, he divested Methos of his shirt, then bent down to lick at an exposed nipple.

Methos cradled Duncan's head against his chest, moaning softly as his head fell back and his hands curled once again in MacLeod's dark hair.

Duncan pulled back, wincing. "Methos, leave some hair in my scalp please," he whispered, gently extracting the slender fingers from his hair.

Methos sighed, kissing him lightly. "I'm sorry. But this is very...intense," he explained, teasing his fingers along MacLeod's ribs. His eyes devoured the hard chest, his tongue darting out to lick at his lips.

Duncan's breath caught as the swirl of emotions from Methos' Quickening sent waves of pleasure through him. "Aye, I can feel it too," he whispered, caressing Methos' lower lip with his thumb. "Just remember that I'm not as...wild...as you are," he teased gently, his dark eyes narrowing with desire.

Methos started to chuckle, but at the Highlander's look, it died in his throat. His face settled into intensity, focusing his full attention on MacLeod. "I will try to restrain my wilder side," he promised solemnly.

"Och, you don't have to do that, just...try to be a bit more careful," MacLeod answered, drawing Methos against him. Stroking his hands up Methos' arms, he stopped at the strong shoulders and smiled. "In the meantime..." He pushed backward, until Methos was once again lying on the bed.

Duncan's hands traveled the length of Methos' body, stopping at his pants and slowly working them off the narrow hips. Methos lifted his hips to help, and he shivered as the cool air hit his long legs. MacLeod levered himself off the bed, shuffling out of the rest of his clothes, then resumed his previous position, hovering over Methos.

Smiling knowingly, MacLeod brushed Methos' lips, lightly teasing along his jaw, down his neck, to once again settle his mouth over one taut nipple.

"Ahh, you are going to kill me slowly, aren't you Highlander?" Methos sighed, reaching down to grasp Duncan's erection. "But turnabout  _is_ fair play," he taunted wickedly, sliding his fingers lightly down Duncan's sex.

MacLeod jerked in his hands, gasping as knowledgeable fingers worked their magic on his growing erection. "Not fair," he managed to whisper, groaning as Methos stroked him.

"All's fair in love and war," Methos teased, rubbing his thumb over MacLeod's weeping tip. A startled gasp flew from his parted lips as Duncan nipped his shoulder. Groaning, Methos closed his eyes and arched his back. "Don't you dare stop, Highlander," he threatened with a sigh.

With a wicked glint in his eye, Duncan trailed his wet tongue along Methos' skin, from his shoulder to his neck, up to his ear. His lips tickling Methos' earlobe, he whispered, "Stop this?" as his hands danced along Methos' torso.

The older Immortal squirmed. "MacLeod!" Methos tried to sound menacing, but Duncan was hitting his most tender spots. To retaliate, Methos tightened his grip on MacLeod's sex, pinching the tip.

Duncan groaned, faltering in his exploration of Methos' body. "Methos," he whispered, softly pleading as the Ancient Immortal stroked him firmly, waiting until he felt MacLeod shiver, then Methos released him.

Reaching up, Methos kissed MacLeod, his eyes sparkling. "Just remember that next time you try to tickle me," he whispered softly.

Duncan struggled to bring his arousal back under control. Glaring down at his lover, he growled, "I'll not learn any lessons today." Up and down Methos' ribcage using the lightest touch, Macleod slowly teased at each rib, mouthing along the slender neck, his hair brushing along Methos' chest.

"Mac - don't," Methos gasped, fighting a whimper. He inhaled sharply as Duncan nipped at his collarbone, drawing a deep moan from the elder Immortal. "Oh Goddess, MacLeod," he murmured, thrusting his hips up. "Are you going to tease all night, or are you going to do something with that?"

"Oh, I'll do something with it, all right," Duncan promised with a wicked smile, sitting up and reaching into the nightstand.

Methos' eyes locked on the jar MacLeod held up, then a knowing smile bloomed. His eyes followed the lid's arc across the room as it was tossed casually over MacLeod's shoulder.

With intense concentration, Duncan reached down and tugged Methos' legs up and settled them over his shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly along Methos' legs, and he felt the shiver wrack the slender body below him; felt the echoing emotion through their Quickenings. Breathing raggedly, he reached for the jar and dipped two fingers inside.

Methos murmured, "My, my, aren't  _we_ getting daring in our old age," as he shifted his weight on Duncan's thighs.

Duncan halted in his ministrations, arching an eyebrow at Methos. "Do you want me to stop?" His hand slipped under Methos, drawing his thumb along the tight opening, quickly slipping one finger inside.

Methos bit his lip to keep from crying out as he felt MacLeod push another finger inside him. "No," he hissed, trying to force Duncan's fingers deeper.

"Then quit talking," Duncan ordered softly, extracting his fingers. Shifting his hips forward, he teased Methos' opening with the head of his sex, watching the muscles in the Ancient Immortal's jaw flex with increased tension. Thrusting his hips forward gently, MacLeod started to enter his lover, taking his time, savoring every ripple of movement along his own sex. Finally, MacLeod settled himself fully inside the other Immortal, their harsh breathing the only sound between them.

Duncan began to move, thrusting gently against Methos, learning his way around this new position. Suddenly, Methos arched his back, a choked cry escaping as Duncan hit his most sensitive spot. The sensations rode up through their Quickenings, and the Highlander shivered with the intensity. Carefully, MacLeod rolled his hips in a circular motion, wanting to gauge that reaction.

The response was immediate and unmistakable. Methos threw his head back, eyes shut tight, as he moaned loud and long. Then his muscles gripped MacLeod so tight Duncan grew dizzy from the intensity. The feeling sparked along their Quickenings, and a jolt of electricity passed between them.

"I take it you like that?" Duncan gasped, his fingers digging into Methos' thighs.

Methos couldn't speak; his Quickening was still absorbing all the sensations that coursed through them both.

Duncan grew concerned. "Methos? Are you okay?"

Methos managed to nod, then opened his eyes. "Yes, sorry. Sensory overload." Seeing the concern strengthen in Duncan's eyes, Methos reached up and smoothed back the damp, straggly hair from his face. "Do not worry about me, Highlander." With a wicked grin, he tightened himself around MacLeod's sex once again, causing the other Immortal to gasp. "Worry when that  _doesn't_ cause that reaction."

Eyes narrowed with teasing anger, MacLeod twisted his hips, rocking hard against Methos. A low moan rumbled in Methos' chest, then intense pleasure poured through their mingled Quickenings. Satisfied that Methos had learned his lesson, MacLeod started a steady pace that quickly grew to forceful thrusts, bringing him close to the edge. Unable to think, unable to control himself, he climaxed, sighing heavily as his Quickening sparked around them.

MacLeod carefully extracted himself from the almost contortionist position they were in, then flopped back on the bed, groaning.

"Was there a problem?" Methos murmured, rolling to his side and toying with Duncan's chest hair.

"No, except my back is having spasms," Duncan growled, wincing as the muscles started to work themselves out. He brought Methos' hand to his mouth, kissing the palm. His gaze traveled down Methos' body hungrily, his eyes widening almost comically as they stopped at Methos' groin. "Why did you not say something?" Duncan lamented, rolling over and reaching for Methos' erection.

Methos placed one hand on Duncan's shoulder, gently pushing him back down to the bed. "Always the concerned one," he murmured, leaning down to kiss MacLeod lightly. "I have had more than five thousand years worth of practice to help my stamina." He smirked as he added, "Don't think I'm that easy."

His initial embarrassment faded, and Duncan quirked an eyebrow at the oldest living Immortal. "Oh really? I bet I can get you to come without even touching this," his finger flicked over the rosy erection.

Methos hissed, then taunted, " _Do_ you now?" His eyes lit up with interest. "I'm curious as to how you plan to accomplish that feat."

Duncan flashed his teeth. "Easy," he purred, lowering his head to Methos' ear.

"Oh, no, MacLeod, not that...oh, _please_ don't...oh," he sighed raggedly as Duncan nibbled at his ear, working his way down the long neck. Methos' nails dug into MacLeod's back as he felt Duncan's teeth against his neck, rubbing back and forth. "MacLeod," he rasped, his hands nervously kneading the broad back, "be careful."

"Mmm?" Duncan murmured against his skin, scraping his teeth along Methos' jugular.

Methos gasped, then shivered with anticipation and fear. He thrust his hips up into MacLeod's, and the talented mouth instantly disappeared from his neck. "MacLeod!" he wailed, trying to draw him back down.

"Uh-uh, Methos," Duncan teased, one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "No helping yourself along."

"You can't expect me to just  _lie here_..." Methos protested, though his Quickening sang with pleasure at the thought.

"I can, and I do," MacLeod declared with a warning look. "After all, you have more than five thousand years of practice to fall back on," he sing-songed back at the Ancient Immortal, enjoying watching the play of emotions across Methos' face.

"Arrrgh!" Methos groaned, clenching his fists. "Why did I ever tell you that?"

"Because you're an arrogant sunovabitch," MacLeod answered promptly. He lowered himself onto Methos' chest and whispered in his ear, "And because you like it."

Resigning himself, Methos sighed. "All right, you win. Just get started. Even old guys need relief after awhile."

"And they don't get any older than you," Duncan teased. Methos' smart reply was bitten off as MacLeod's lips covered his, bruising in their force.

Duncan's hands roved over Methos' compact body, tickling, pinching, teasing him to distraction. Methos groaned, his entire body taunt, his Quickening singing with pleasure. MacLeod's teeth resumed their earlier passage over his neck, Duncan making purring noises to accompany his nuzzling.

"Oh, you  _are_ trying to kill me," Methos whispered, his breath quickening as Duncan took a gentle bite out of his shoulder.

"Mmm hmm," Duncan agreed, his left hand straying close to Methos' erection, but slid around his waist to his ass, one finger teasing at his entrance.

Arching his back, Methos growled, the sound growing in volume as Duncan inserted another finger. Thrusting against Methos gently, nipping lightly along his collarbone, Duncan wondered just how long the Ancient Immortal could hold out. He didn't have to wait long. Methos' growl changed to a moan as his entire body shook, arching up against MacLeod as he came, his Quickening a maddening force around them.

Duncan held his breath, afraid the windows would shatter. But as Methos' breathing evened out and he regained control of himself, Duncan breathed again.

"Damn Methos," he whispered, kissing the older Immortal lightly.

"Damn you, Highlander," Methos gasped, his body still shuddering. "I haven't felt this good in...a thousand years."

"Well, thank you very much," Duncan crowed, rolling over and taking Methos with him. "I guess five times in a lifetime is enough then?" he teased.

"Ooh, you are asking for it, MacLeod," Methos warned, though he felt too good to argue more than that. He pulled the sheets up around them, making himself comfortable. "But not tonight."

MacLeod smiled, wrapping his arms around Methos until he fell asleep.

~~~~~~~

Methos slid his key into the keyhole, turning slowly. The dull click echoed like a shot, causing him to wince. Slowly, he pushed the door open, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. He paused at the dojo doorway, bowing in respect before dumping his bag beside the door. He slid his coat off, dropping it in a heap on the floor. Toeing off his shoes and socks, he push them to the side, then removed his shirt; once it left his fingertips, it was forgotten.

Carefully measured steps took him to the center of the dojo, where he took some deep breaths, and began moving. Slowly, deliberately, his focus and concentration on his movements: right, step, arm, bend; his body went through the ancient moves as if second nature.

When he stopped, his skin shining with sweat, he noticed the shadows were quite long; he had been at it for hours. Toweling himself off, he sank to the floor, crossing his legs and regulating his breathing, keeping the feeling of calmness with him. A few minutes later, he felt the Buzz of an approaching Immortal. He had made sure to face the entrance when he sat, and now when the Immortal made his appearance, Methos looked up directly into his blue eyes.

Neither said a word, but the other Immortal stepped inside the dojo, repeating Methos' earlier bow. Finally, he spoke.

"Hi Adam," Richie Ryan greeted him hesitantly, walking up to the other Immortal.

"Actually, it's Michael Litteken now, but hello," Methos answered, keeping his wary eyes on the younger Immortal.

Richie nodded, glancing casually about the dojo, his eyes finally resting back on Methos. "I got your message. You wanted to talk about Mac?"

"Yes." Methos rose to his feet, stretching carefully. "Would you be more comfortable sitting?"

Richie crossed his arms. "I'd rather stand, unless this is going to take awhile."

"How long it takes depends on you," Methos answered cryptically. "I suppose you know that MacLeod and I are friends."

"Yeah," the redhead answered, somewhat impatiently. He was beginning to radiate hostility that the Ancient Immortal sensed halfway across the room.

Methos took a deep breath and looked Richie dead in the eye. "We are now more than friends. We are lovers."

Mild surprise flickered over Richie's features, then he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. "Why tell me? I don't care what Mac does."

"I thought you might," Methos answered quietly. "After all, he was your teacher, and is your friend. And I have gotten the impression that you don't trust me," he challenged lightly.

"I don't trust a lot of people," Richie spat, his brows drawn together in anger. "But you're right, I don't trust you."

"What did I do to you?" Methos asked as sincerely as he could with the young Immortal glaring at him.

"Kristin," the young Immortal blurted out. "Mac let her go, and you killed her." Richie stepped closer. "She might have been a psycho, but at least she was still alive."

Methos glared at Richie, not backing down an inch. "And you might not have been, if I had let her live," he replied.

"Maybe I would have liked to make that choice myself," Richie replied, his erratic emotions stirring Methos' Quickening; reminiscent of a mild summer storm brewing.

Methos shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. "There wasn't time. Kristin would have disappeared and not shown her face again for ten or twenty years. By then, it might have been too late."

"For who?" Richie snarled, his chest inches from the other Immortal's. "You couldn't take her when she was at full fighting strength could you? You had to wait until she was vulnerable?" he accused.

"Don't," Methos warned, but Richie plowed ahead, disregarding all the danger signs.

"Why not? Afraid of the truth?" he snapped.

"Why are you so angry?" Sudden enlightenment hit Methos right between the eyes. "You wanted her Quickening," he murmured.

Hatred glittered in Richie's eyes. "Yes."

Methos' estimation of the still-new Immortal went up a bit, though now was not the time to tell him. Instead, he asked, "Do you think you could have killed her? Could you have taken her head?"

"I might've," the younger Immortal conceded, but quickly added, "But I was never given the chance."

"And you might not have," Methos reasoned. "I was just insuring that no one was ever hurt by her again."

Richie's temper, which had been held barely in check, exploded. "Who are you to decide that, huh? You think you're hot stuff or something? How old are you anyway, man?" Richie's arms shot out, and he pushed Methos back a few steps. "Some punk guy only a few centuries older than Mac? Or are you even that old?" Richie shoved Methos to the floor. He stood over the Ancient Immortal, his voice hard. "Keep away from Mac."

Methos' eyes darkened as anger powered his Quickening, though he stayed on the floor, letting the other Immortal get closer. "I won't leave MacLeod until I want to leave...or he asks me to."

Richie grasped Methos' arm and hauled him to his feet. " _I_ want you to leave," he hissed, his eyes flashing sapphire in anger.

Methos stared at Richie, focusing his Quickening. A white mist rose from Methos' chest, enveloping Richie, and he released the older Immortal, gasping in pain.

"What the hell was that? What'd you do to me?" Richie demanded, clutching at his chest, waiting for the rush of pain to pass.

"That, my young friend, was a taste of what I am capable of. I suggest you find out whom you are threatening before you challenge them. Or was I wrong?" Methos stared hard at Richie, his voice deadly calm. " _Was_ this a challenge?"

The pain subsided and Richie straightened, taking deep breaths. "It wasn't a challenge," he assured Methos, though his eyes still reflected deep anger. "Consider it - a friendly warning."

"Duly noted," Methos replied, keeping his eyes on Richie's form until he left the dojo, and Richie's Buzz was outside his range.

Methos remained in the center of the dojo, unmoving. He had done it. Planted the first seed. Richie would of course confront MacLeod about this, and MacLeod would of course have to ask Methos about their encounter. "You're so predictable," Methos whispered, hands on hips, shaking his head. "And so are you, Watcher," he added under his breath, catching site of Joe's car outside.

Moving quickly, Methos started getting dressed, beginning to mutter to himself. He engrossed himself in his task, turning quickly when the voice at the door startled him.

"Nice to know old age affects Immortals too," Joe Dawson remarked as he entered the dojo, walking over to Methos and sitting on a bench above him.

Methos frowned, tying his shoe as he looked up from his position on the floor. "How?"

A soft smile broke over Joe's face. "Talking to yourself."

Methos snorted. "Yeah, well, when you behave as stupidly as I just did..." Methos finished tying his shoes, wrapping his arms around his knees. "Did you see Richie leave?"

"Yeah," Joe sighed. "What'd you say to him, anyway? I haven't seen him looking that angry in a long time."

"We fought about Kristin. Seems he wanted her Quickening." Methos' eyes narrowed as he glanced to Joe. "What do you know about it?"

"Only what MacLeod told me," Joe shrugged.

"MacLeod tells you everything," Methos suddenly snapped, glaring up at the Watcher.

Joe flinched, but didn't break eye contact with the Immortal. "Not everything. But since there were no Watchers in the area, someone had to report what happened. MacLeod gave me the details."

"I see." The silence stretched out, until Methos stood up. "Well, I have to get going." He looked askance at Dawson.

Joe regarded him steadily, finally rising to his feet. "I guess this is where I leave."

"I guess so," Methos replied lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Joe's normally placid eyes finally hardened, and he pushed past the Immortal. "I guess so," he echoed.

"Don't forget your promise, Joe," Methos reminded him, his voice carrying a veiled threat.

"Don't worry," Joe actually snarled, "I keep my promises."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Duncan MacLeod felt the Buzz of an approaching Immortal, and tensed as the elevator stopped at the loft and the guard went careening up. He relaxed as he saw the familiar reddish- blonde hair.

"Richie!" MacLeod greeted his former student, shaking his hand and patting him on the back. "I was just asking Joe about you."

"What, worried about me?" Richie joked with a wan smile. He again weighed his decision to come to MacLeod, to tell him about his confrontation with Michael. He was Mac's friend; he owed it to the Scotsman to tell him if there was something wrong. But was this interfering? He remembered all the times Duncan had tried to warn  _him_ about his disastrous liaisons, and how he had ignored his advice. And nearly lost his head a few times. Did he expect MacLeod to react any differently than he did? But didn't he owe him, not just his gratitude, but his very life? Richie decided it was far too important to let slide, and if he was wrong, well, it wouldn't be the first time.

"Not really," Duncan lied, guiding the younger Immortal to the couch. "Want something to drink?"

"Coffee's great if you've got some." Richie settled on the couch, taking the warm mug Duncan offered.

MacLeod settled into the easy chair, sipping out of his own mug of coffee. "Is there something wrong?" he asked quietly, sensing something wrong with his former student.

Richie finally decided that it was better MacLeod know now, rather than later -- when he was headless. His resolve strengthened, and Richie was sure he was doing the right thing. He looked down into his coffee, then back up into Duncan's eyes. "You could say that. I need to talk to you. But it's . . . sort of personal."

MacLeod sat up straighter, giving his full concentration to his former student. "Okay," he replied carefully.

Richie froze up. He set down his coffee mug carefully. He took another quick glance around the loft. He didn't know where to begin, so he blurted out the first thing he thought of. "I saw Adam, um, Michael today."

"Really?" Duncan immediately perked up at his lover's name. He waited for Richie to continue, but when he didn't, his slight smile faded. "What? Did he demand you return his CD collection or something?" MacLeod teased, trying to draw the younger Immortal out.

Richie took a deep breath, staring MacLeod right in the eye. "No. He told me that you two were lovers. Is that right?"

Duncan blinked once, not sure whether to be angry or startled. He settled for a little of both. "Why did he tell you?"

Richie threw his hands wide, declaring, "I have no idea. I had a message from him yesterday, saying to meet him downstairs." He glared accusingly at MacLeod. "It's true then? You're sleeping with him?"

A calm acceptance settled over the Highlander's features. "Yes, I am."

"Oh, man, this is too much." The younger Immortal stood up, beginning to pace the length of the couch. "I just got back into town, after taking probably one too many heads, and this gets tossed at me. I think my brain's fried." He paused in mid-pace. Something had just clicked in his mind; something that he began to think about when he started talking to Michael: his conversation with Joe. He had brought up Adam, then mentioned that MacLeod was seeing someone. Did Joe know about this? Richie made a mental note to talk to Joe about this some more -- assuming he made it out of the loft with his head still attached.

"I'll say," MacLeod drawled, though his mind was churning through what his former student was telling him. His brow furrowed as a thought occurred to him. "That's all he told you? That was the reason for the meeting?"

Richie shrugged. "As far as I could tell." The young Immortal finally sat back down, downing half his coffee in one gulp. He settled his gaze on MacLeod's, trying to read him. Judging how much to tell him of what he learned from Dawson. The Highlander looked mildly confused, and a bit wary. Wary of himself or Michael, though, Richie couldn't say. But, his instincts told him to plow ahead. "Actually, no, there was something else. But I don't know if I should bring it up."

That grabbed MacLeod's attention. His eyes snapped back to Richie's, widening. Despite himself, he bristled in anger. "Just tell me."

"There's no easy way to ask this." Richie paused, closing his eyes briefly. He opened them and stared directly into MacLeod's. "Do you trust him?"

"With my life," Duncan answered without a second thought.

Richie drew back at the absolute trust MacLeod seemed to place in this Immortal. His voice remained low as his hands gripped the coffee mug. "Well, I don't trust him with  _my_ life. He threatened me."

Duncan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Threatened? Are you sure?"

Richie's temper flared and he snapped, "I think I know hostility when I sense it!"

Duncan tried to placate his former student. "Richie, Michael has...a lot on his mind. He's been a little distracted lately."

Richie felt his anger growing by leaps and bounds. MacLeod could be the most pigheaded man on the face of the planet when he wanted to be, rivaling only Richie himself. "Come on Mac, we all get distracted. This was  _not_ your normal every day hostility. He seemed to take pleasure in telling me about you two. Like he was trying to see if it would rattle me. Is that normal?"

"No," Duncan was forced to admit, "But you might have misinterpreted..."

"Hardly," Richie snorted. "You don't misinterpret an attack."

"Attack!" MacLeod was his feet, his face darkening into a stormcloud. "Michael  _attacked_ you? He drew his sword?" he cried in disbelief.

Richie calmed down enough to realize he better explain fast, before the vein along MacLeod's jaw burst. "No, he didn't attack me with his sword. It was...it was like part of his Quickening. It's...really hard to describe."

The Highlander felt uneasy, remembering how he had come to 'know' Methos' Buzz. How his Quickening sparked after their lovemaking...did Methos possess the power to control his Quickening? That line of thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"Mac?" Richie queried, concern softening his voice. "I didn't want to tell you, but I thought it might be important."

"It's okay, Rich," MacLeod finally replied, though his voice was unsteady. "You're sure it was a Quickening?"

Richie shrugged, his face reflecting a hint of the pain he had experienced. "It was like a Quickening, only it  _hurt_ , Mac. Really hurt. There was none of the mingling of sensations; it was like pure anger."

Duncan shook his head at Richie's words, glancing helplessly around the loft. "Michael wouldn't do that," he declared softly, but doubt was seeping into his mind, and he didn't like it.

Richie rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of MacLeod, asking, "Are you sure? Because I know what I felt."

"Of course I'm sure!" Duncan snapped, his face twisted in anger. "I trust the man with my life."

"But do you trust him with mine?" Richie shouted, his anger finally getting the better of him. "Cuz I sure as hell don't."

Duncan leveled his gaze at his former student. "Richie, don't do this."

All the hard-earned growth and maturity dissolved, leaving the hurt and angry 16 year old kid. "Don't do what?" Richie exploded. "Mac, if he comes after me, I won't hold back. I can't trust him, not after . . ." he broke off, storming halfway across the loft away from his former Teacher.

"What? What did he do, Richie?" MacLeod demanded, coming over to force Richie to look at him.

Richie struggled against the Highlander's grip, but Duncan held firm. Ceasing his fight, MacLeod let up a bit, and Richie jerked away from him. Glaring icy blue eyes locked onto MacLeod's. "He took Kristin's Quickening."

"Yeah, so?" Duncan snapped.

"So," Richie snarled, "If I had gotten there sooner, I would have taken her head. He owes me."

"Owes you? He might have saved both our lives!" Duncan protested, his accent thickening as his anger built.

As Duncan's voice rose, Richie's softened. "At what cost? Mac, listen to me," he pleaded. "He's not what he seems. How well do you know him? Really know him?"

MacLeod started to answer, then sighed. "It's a little more complicated than that."

Richie's emotions were running out of control. Exasperatedly, he demanded, "More complicated than what? Mac, you either know him or you don't."

Duncan shook his head, frowning. "It's not that simple. He's...complex."

"I think he  _has_ a complex, and I think it's starting to wear off on you!" Richie snapped, his impatience near the breaking point.

MacLeod's own anger was reaching the boiling point. "If all you're going to do is take cheap shots at him, then I think it's time you left."

A short laugh escaped the young Immortal. "Not a problem. I'm outta here." He brushed past MacLeod, stepped into the elevator and lowered the guard. Then he turned to his friend. "But you might want to talk to your buddy Dawson. He expressed some of the same  _concerns_ I just did," Richie tossed back at MacLeod before punching the button.

Duncan was shaking with tension and anger. "Dawson? What's he got to do with this?" he called after Richie, but the elevator was already too far gone. Starting to pace again, Duncan wondered at everything Richie had said. Could it all be true? Could Methos have threatened Richie? Attacked him with part of his Quickening? And what was this about Joe?

It was time Duncan MacLeod had a  _chat_ with the oldest living Immortal. But first, he had a bartender to visit.

~~~~~~~~

MacLeod walked into _Joe's_ like an advancing storm. Looking about quickly, he spotted the owner and went straight up to him. "Joe, we need to talk."

Dawson took in the Highlander's dark expression and waved Mike to take over. "Office," Joe instructed, leading the way. MacLeod shut the door behind him, refusing a chair.

"What do you know about an attack on Richie?" he asked without preamble.

"What?" Joe nearly slipped as he lowered himself into his chair. "Richie didn't say anything about..."  _Uh, oh_.

"I thought the last you heard about Richie was that he left India." MacLeod's voice was quiet, though laced with sarcasm.

"I - well," Joe fumbled, mentally cursing Methos again. He looked into MacLeod's face, seeing the carefully controlled expression. This wasn't good at all. He sighed. "You might want to sit down," he offered again.

Duncan didn't move. "I won't be staying long."

"Fine." Joe leaned back, though his body was anything but relaxed. "Richie came in here two days ago, looking for you. I told him you were in town, and that you were seeing someone. I did  _not_ say who," he forestalled the question he could see forming in Duncan's eyes. Taking a deep breath, Joe dived the rest of the way in. "I mentioned Adam to him, asking his opinion of him. I might have put some questions in his head, but that's all."

Duncan didn't relax an inch. "What about an attack? Richie said you knew something about it."

Joe closed his eyes, gathering his strength. The wrath of MacLeod was not something he was looking forward to. "I followed Richie to the dojo yesterday, since his Watcher was filing reports at HQ. I saw Richie storm out, furious. I went inside, and found Methos there." He paused, shifting in his chair. "He said that he and Richie fought about who should have recieved Kristin's Quickening. There was no blood on the floor," he assured MacLeod, though he doubted it helped any.

"There wouldn't be," Duncan murmured, finally loosening his shoulders. "Richie said Methos attacked him with his Quickening."

"He what?" Dawson was on his feet before MacLeod could blink. "That's impossible!"

"That's what I thought, too. But you didn't talk to Richie. He's positive that it was Quickening." A concerned look crossed his face. "And I believe him."

Joe nearly choked. "You really think Methos can control his Quickening?"

Duncan hesitated. "Well, yes, when he . . ." his voice trailed off, and the accusatory light was back in his eyes.

Joe caught it and immediately went on the defensive. "What? MacLeod, you're hiding something from me. Don't do this, not now. This is serious."

"You don't want to hear about Methos," he tossed Joe's words back at the Watcher. "I wouldn't want to put you at any imposition," Duncan cracked sarcastically.

"Damnit MacLeod, this is important!" Joe's temper exploded. "If he's able to control his Quickening, then he's altered the Game. Every one of you could be in danger!"

"Methos would never harm one of my friends!" Duncan countered, scoffing Joe's warning.

"He's already harmed Richie," Joe snapped back. He started walking around the desk. "You don't know what Methos is capable of!" he raged, unable to control himself anymore. "No one knows! He's done things that we can't even begin to imagine. He's  _doing_ things that none of us thought possible. Controlling Quickenings? I've never heard of it, and there's nothing in the records that I can remember." Joe's eyes flashed as he moved closer to MacLeod. "He's an unknown quantity to us. We don't know if this is due to his age, or if it's something he picked up. We have no way of knowing what else he's learned."

"You make him sound like a god," Duncan spat. "None of us are gods."

"No," Joe emphasized his words with a thump of his cane. "I make him sound like a 5,000 year old Immortal who will do  _anything_ to stay alive," he hissed, enunciating each word carefully. "Do not let your guard down around him. Don't let him get to you."

Anguish and hurt filled Duncan's eyes. "Joe, I trust him with my  _life_ ," he enunciated just as clearly.

"May God protect fools, small children, and Immortals who cross Methos' path," Joe hissed, walking past MacLeod and opening the door. "Now get out of my bar unless you plan to buy a drink."

Duncan stared at his friend, open shock coloring his features. First Richie, now Joe. A nagging doubt surfaced: was keeping Methos worth losing his friends? He couldn't answer that yet, and with a heavy heart, he left _Joe's_ without another word, and without looking back.

~~~~~~~

Richie Ryan entered  _Joe's_ , looking around the crowd for the owner. He spotted him behind the bar and made his way over there.

"Joe, can I talk to you for a minute?" Richie asked.

Joe sighed. It was no wonder Watcher HQ had seen to try him for treason. He had more Immortals in his life - and his bar - than any other Watcher in history. "Sure. What's up?"

"Mac." Richie settled on a barstool, tapping his fingers nervously on the polished surface of the bar.

"What is this, the MacLeod Piss and Moan Society?" Joe snapped impatiently.

"Whoa, Joe," the Immortal held up his hands, "what's going on?"

"MacLeod just left." He paused to wash a glass vigorously. "After I kicked him out."

"You what?" Richie practically yelled, then glanced around warily. "Joe, something is  _really_ wrong here."

"No kidding," Joe muttered.

Richie rubbed his thumb on the edge of the bar, deep in thought. "What's happened to him, Joe? He's been acting strange since I got back from India."

"Richie, he's been acting strange for a lot longer than that. I could probably pinpoint the exact day, but I'm kinda busy here," Joe cracked sarcastically, nodding to his waitress and mixing a Manhattan.

"Let me take a guess. It started when Mac started seeing Michael, right?" Richie watched Joe's face, and felt a small sense of triumph when he saw he guessed right, then his victory faded as he realized what that meant. "Is Michael influencing him somehow?"

"Nah, I don't think so," Joe retorted. "I think he's just picking up some of Michael's bad habits." He handed the Manhattan to his waitress, then resumed washing glasses. "What about you? What happened to you?"

"When?" Richie asked, frowning.

Joe set both his hands on the bar, leaning closer to the Immortal. "What's this I hear about you being attacked by Michael? With a Quickening?"

"Mac told you, huh?" Richie sighed. "Well, it's true. We were in the middle of an argument, I had him by the shoulders, and wham, it hit me."

"Like a regular Quickening?" Joe asked, fascinated despite himself.

"No," Richie hissed, looking quickly around to see if he had drawn attention to himself. He lowered his voice as he explained, "It was just one emotion; anger. Not a mix of sensations like a Quickening. It only lasted a few seconds, but I'll never forget it."

Joe frowned, his forehead creased with worry lines. "The Watchers don't have anything like this recorded. As far as we know, it's never happened. But I'm willing to bet it takes some serious power." Joe paused, leaning toward the Immortal. "Richie, watch your back. I don't trust Michael, especially after hearing this."

"Don't worry. I have  _no_ intention of turning my back on him," Richie promised, getting to his feet. "I'll catch you later, Joe."

"Later," Joe called, more worried about MacLeod than ever. And worried about Richie on top of it.

~~~~~~~

Methos grumbled to himself as he walked along the crowded street. Seacouver's weather was no better than the Parisian spring. It was still cool, though the sun warmed the air as the day wore on. The signs of spring - flowers, animals scurrying about - were not visible from the path Methos was on. All he saw were people rushing here and there, occasionally bumping into him. Each time that happened, his hand automatically went to check his wallet. Two days ago, it had been stolen. Grimacing, Methos wondered how he could have been taken like that. He was losing his touch, and that worried him. To top his already sour mood, he had been caught in a brief rain shower, and his hair was now plastered to his head. Water ran down his back in icy tendrils, soaking his shirt and not improving his spirits any.

Still grumbling to himself, he stepped too heavily into a puddle and splashed muddy water over his shoes. "That's _it_ ," he muttered, stopping where he was, ignoring the startled shouts behind him. Methos' head suddenly snapped up and he glanced around warily. A Buzz cut through him, fairly close. _No. Not now, damnit. Not **now**._ Ducking his head, he stifled his Quickening, walked quickly across the street, away from the Buzz. The other Immortal followed him, the Buzz growing stronger.

"Fuck," Methos muttered as he tried to lose his pursuer. No such luck. The other Immortal continued to follow him, drawing nearer. Methos ducked inside a warehouse and slammed the door shut, looking around for another way out. Darting sideways under the windows, he searched for another door. His steps faltered as he heard the door slide along the rollers. The other Immortal had found him.

Straightening quickly, Methos faced his opponent without fear. "Hello," he called, his voice echoing throughout the nearly-empty warehouse. "Something I can do for you?"

"Yeah, you can leave town," Richie Ryan's voice snapped back, the echo amplifying his anger. He stepped closer, withdrawing his sword.

"Richie, I don't want to fight you," Methos tried to reason with the young Immortal.

"Yeah? Well, _I_ want to fight _you_. I said I didn't trust you, and now I don't even _like_ you." Richie dropped into a fighting stance, his sword held at the ready.

"Richie, don't," Methos pleaded softly, though he reached for his own broadsword.

"Look damnit, you got between Mac and me, that's one thing. But to come between Mac and Joe? Uh-uh. This ends. Right here, right now." Richie started circling Methos, making light jabs with his rapier.

Methos cursed himself for not foreseeing this aspect of his meddling. He hadn't wanted to fight MacLeod's ex-student, but now it seems as if he had no choice. "Richie, you don't know what you're doing..."

Richie flicked his sword at Methos' arm, laying open the jacket and shirt, nicking his skin. "I think I know what I'm doing," he taunted, taking another light jab at Methos' other arm.

~~~~~

Duncan drove aimlessly through Seacouver, rehashing his argument with Joe in his mind. It never felt right when he and the Watcher fought. The car turned down by the wharf, and he sighed. He had been doing a lot of thinking about Methos in the past few hours as well. What Richie and Joe had said about him, what they had warned him about. What he had witnessed himself - most notably the way he could 'identify' Methos' Buzz. He had never been able to do that with another Immortal; not even Amanda. What if Richie and Joe were right about Methos?

He felt two strong Buzzes as he passed a huge warehouse, and slowed his car. One of the Quickenings felt familiar . . . intimately familiar. His breath catching in his throat, he stopped the car and jogged to the doorway, unsure of what he would find. He came up short as he saw who Methos was fighting.

"No!" the Highlander yelled.

The two Immortals circled each other, swords sparking in the dark warehouse. Methos swung high, slicing Richie's left shoulder open. "Michael, Richie, stop this," Duncan shouted, having the presence of mind not to give Methos' true name.

"Stay...away," Methos gasped, his eyes never leaving his opponent's. He blocked a vicious slice to his arm and stumbled. "My...fight."

"No,  _my_ fight; you're losing," Richie panted. "Better say good-bye to your lover; he's about to become a distant memory," he called out in Duncan's direction as he slashed low across Methos' torso, slicing a jagged hole in his gut.

Methos went down with a cry of pain, clutching his left arm to his stomach, holding his sword up, awkwardly blocking the other Immortal's blows. Grimacing with pain, fire lit his Quickening. He didn't want to die. He had no  _intention_ of dying...the passion was back. Focusing, he gathered his Quickening.

"Richie, you don't have to do this. Stop it now! You can walk away," Duncan pleaded to his former student, willing him to give up the fight.

Richie pushed their crossed swords closer to Methos' exposed neck. "Too late for that," Richie breathed, putting all his weight onto his sword.

MacLeod extracted his own katana, fighting with his conscience not to interfere, his instinct to protect his ex-student, and his fierce loyalty to defend his lover. If it came down to it, would he have to kill Richie to stop him? Or would Methos do it? And if he did, would he be able to look Methos in the eye again?

A scream of pain cut through the silence, and Richie went flying across the warehouse, slamming into the wall with a sickening crunch. Flashes of Quickening sparked over his body before he crumbled in a heap on the floor. His Buzz faded as he died.

MacLeod stared in amazement at the body, then slid his gaze back to Methos. He was just getting up, leaning heavily on his broadsword to assist him.

Limping over to the Highlander, holding his stomach, Methos grimaced. "I feel like a gutted fish."

MacLeod's astonishment at what he'd seen started to fade, and his questions began. "What happened? What did you do to him? Was that what I think it was?"

Methos sighed, wincing in pain. "If you think it was a Quickening, partially. It was mine. I have developed the ability to use it as a weapon. Very effective in holding off opponents."

"But..."

"What?" Methos narrowed his eyes at the Highlander. "Don't even try to tell me it's not fair, MacLeod. I've managed to live this long without any problems with it."

Duncan swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "Richie said you used it against him earlier. I thought he was lying. He wasn't. You really did attack him," he whispered, his voice carrying astonishment and hurt.

"Yes I did," Methos answered calmly, turning and limping towards MacLeod's car.

"Methos! Methos, wait," Duncan strode briskly to catch up with the Ancient Immortal. "MacLeod, leave me alone," Methos snapped, flinging open the car door and turning to face the other Immortal. Duncan stared in astonishment at the oldest living Immortal. "Wha-? Methos. What's happened to you? What's this all about?"

Methos leaned on the car door, studying MacLeod. "I do not like to fight. I would rather be sitting in a nice, quiet bungalow on some nice, hot island, listening to The Boss. But instead, I'm in Seacover. I'm constantly damp, constantly on the lookout, afraid that one day the Buzz won't be friendly and I'll lose my head. I do not like that feeling, MacLeod." His voice dropped to quiet hiss. "I cannot live with it."

Methos turned and slid into the driver's seat, but his attempt to slam the car door was halted by MacLeod's hand.

"No. You'll not walk away like this."

"I'm not walking. I'm driving," Methos snapped, his eyes flashing.

"Methos, get out of that car," MacLeod commanded.

"Or what? You'll challenge me? If you want a head, take our friend's over there," Methos nodded to the still-dead Immortal inside the warehouse. "I sure as hell don't want it."

Duncan's Quickening flared with anger. "I don't want anyone's head. I want to talk to you."

"It's too late for that, Duncan. It's too late." Methos revved the engine, yanked the door out of the Scot's hands, and drove off.

"And the fat lady warms up," Methos murmured, tires spitting up gravel as he spun the T-bird away from the warehouse.

That was it. Methos got what he wanted; MacLeod wouldn't forgive him now. Once the two Immortals compared notes with Joe, it was almost guaranteed that the Scotsman would be after Methos' head. But better that than the alternative. Methos slowed for an upcoming red light, then stopped. The engine was racing almost as fast as his thoughts. Why wasn't he relieved? He was free; all he had to do was leave town and resume his life. What _life?_ his inner voices hissed at him. _You just tossed_ away _your life._

"Oh, I don't need this," the ancient Immortal chastised himself. "Stop thinking about MacLeod! He wasn't your life. He isn't my life!" he cried as his fist pounded the steering wheel. MacLeod's scent rose from the seats, from the interior of his car, and Methos inhaled deeply, despite himself. Sharp, strong, cutting.

A honk startled him, and the green light reflected off the windshield. Hitting the gas, he raced through, on his way back to the dojo. It was time to finish this.

~~~~~

"Richie?" Duncan cradled the young Immortal's head in his lap, waiting for him to wake up. Normally, reviving after death didn't take this long, and MacLeod was beginning to truly wonder just what Methos had done to him. Feeling Richie's Buzz faintly, he held his breath as Richie inhaled sharply, groaning.

"Oh, man, what was the number on that truck?" he wheezed, his face twisted in agony.

"It wasn't a truck," Duncan replied quietly, helping his friend sit up.

Richie held his chest, wincing in pain. "It _felt_ like a truck," he grumbled, finally looking around him. How he died came rushing back to him as his eyes rested on his sword. "That fucking bastard! Where'd he go?" Richie scrambled to his feet and tried to leave, but MacLeod held him back.

"Let him go, Rich. I want to talk to you first."

Richie looked around the warehouse, waving his arms wildly. "You were _here_ , Mac. You saw it for yourself. That is _not normal_. I have to stop him."

"No!"

MacLeod's outburst startled the younger Immortal. "Why not? Mac, you can't still want to protect him. He tried to kill me!"

"But he didn't." MacLeod studied the other Immortal. "He left. That tells me he didn't want your head. It tells me he wanted to get away." Duncan paused, his eyes narrowing. "Who challenged?"

Richie squared his shoulders, then looked MacLeod right in the eye. "I did."

"Are you insane?" Mac burst out, throwing his arms wide.

"No, but I'm beginning to think you are," Richie snapped. "How can you ignore what he did?"

"I'm not ignoring it! I'm trying to make sense of it!" MacLeod started pacing. "This doesn't make any sense. He's not acting right. Something must be wrong."

"I'll say," the younger Immortal snarled, picking up his sword and tucking it away.

"Richie," MacLeod threatened quietly. "I have to talk to him. Can you give me a ride back to the dojo?"

"You can't be serious." Richie paused, studying MacLeod. "You are serious. Mac, this is suicide. What if he's after  _your_ head?"

"He could have had it the first time we met," was MacLeod's quiet answer.

That stunned Richie to immobility. "What? You fought him?"

Duncan didn't pause as he started walking. "I offered it to him."

~~~~~~

Methos entered the loft, closing the door behind him. He always preferred the back way; the less people saw him coming out of MacLeod's loft, the better. He sighed wearily, rubbing his stomach. It had healed completely, but the twinge was still there. Grimacing, he headed for the kitchen. Grabbing a beer, he tossed the beercap behind the fridge and took a long swallow.

He figured he had a few minutes before MacLeod returned, so he quickly changed, tossing his ruined clothes in the trash. Running his gaze over the loft, he spied some of him belongings. Grabbing his duffel bag, he started packing. He didn't have much; he traveled light, the necessities of a wanderer. While he was stuffing his shoes inside the bag, the Buzz hit him, and the elevator stopped at the loft. His hands faltered, and he inhaled sharply.

He could feel the raging emotions MacLeod was throwing out through his Quickening, but something was different. Methos tried to control his own response, but it was a weak attempt. Panicked, Methos concentrated on stifling his Quickening, but didn't feel any noticeable change.  _Oh, shit_! he thought, his eyes wide with unaccustomed fear. Only one thing had changed that day. His attack on Richie. For the first time in a very long time, Methos had felt  _alive_ , felt the passion rage through him as he fought. What if his control was due to the fact that he hadn't used his Quickening that way in a long time? What if he had lost all his control in that one fight?  _Now is **not** the time to panic,_ he told himself, forcing himself to remain calm. Fighting down all his emotions, Methos resumed packing, trying to appear nonchalant.

"I've been looking for you." Duncan approached the Immortal warily, unsure of him for the second time since he'd known him. Something strange had been happening lately, and Duncan was determined to find out what.

Methos ignored him, concentrating on folding the last shirt and zipping up his bag.

Duncan took in Methos' packing and concluded he was running because of the fight "Methos, I talked to Richie. He's not coming after your head."

Methos nodded, standing up. "That's good to hear, but that's not why I'm leaving."

Duncan blinked, unsure of what he just heard. "Methos, didn't you hear me? You don't have to leave."

"I heard you just fine," Methos commented dryly. "And yes, I do have to leave," he added with certainty.

Duncan was getting a fluttery feeling in his stomach. "If you're afraid that I'll make you leave, I won't; I'm _not_ ," MacLeod assured him.

"That's not a concern," Methos answered cryptically as he hoisted the duffelbag to his shoulder.

Duncan's patience snapped. "Methos, talk to me! Why did you fight Richie?"

Methos shrugged one shoulder, unconcerned. "Why not Richie? Why not Amanda? Why not you? Why not the next Immortal who comes barreling back into your life?"

"That's not an answer!" MacLeod exasperated. He tilted his head, trying to read Methos' face, but it was carved in stone. "This started long before tonight's fight," he observed, thinking over his conversations with Joe and Richie. "Why did you tell Richie about us?"

Methos' shoulder moved slightly. "Why not? He comes up here all the time; to see me here would have set him on edge. Better to head him off before he started asking questions."

Duncan felt a coldness seeping into his Quickening, and fought down a wave of dizziness. "Not good enough. Richie told me you attacked him a few days ago. You hit him with some of your Quickening then, didn't you?" he demanded, his eyes flashing as he regained his equilibrium.

Methos' voice sounded bored. "What if I did?"

Duncan stared at him for a full minute, utterly speechless. Finally, he spluttered, "Methos, you hurt him for no good reason!"

"Maybe not for you, but enough of one for me," Methos evaded.

"Aaah!" Duncan snarled in frustration, turning away from Methos and pacing. "Are you deliberately trying to drive me crazy?"

Methos' answer was to turn and head for the elevator.

Duncan stopped pacing, fear gripping his heart. "At least tell me why you're leaving. You owe me that much," he demanded.

Eyes hardened by 5,000 years of living turned to stare at him. "I do not owe you anything, Duncan MacLeod. This is our way. We leave. I am leaving. What is there to tell?"

Duncan was afraid his mouth was hanging open, shocked by the Ancient Immortal's words. His brain felt numb as he stared as his lover. He could think of plenty to tell. Why Methos had called Richie in the first place. Why he had manipulated Richie into picking a fight with him. Why he had pissed off Joe. Finally, the dam burst. "Methos, you can't just leave like this. It does not make any sense. You used your Quickening to stop a fight with Richie. That isn't normal. None of this is normal!"

"It is normal for me," was Methos' only answer.

"I don't believe that!" MacLeod's bellow echoed through the loft. "Something had to set you off. Something Richie said. Or Joe...or me..."

Methos' dry laughter stopped Duncan's speculations cold. "Stop trying to figure me out, MacLeod. No one has been able to manage it in five thousand years; you sure as hell won't manage it in five minutes."

"Then help me. Tell me what's wrong," the Scot pleaded.

Duncan's Quickening sparked with energy, igniting Methos' own, firing his anger. "There is  _nothing wrong_ " Methos enunciated clearly, his voice low and hard. "Why can't you just stay the bloody hell out of it?"

MacLeod felt as if the Quickening was draining out of him. His voice lost all its anger, falling to a soft cadence. "Because I'm your friend, that's why."

That laugh, that spine chilling laugh once again came from the Ancient Immortal, and once again, Duncan felt a chill through his Quickening. "Friend? You don't want a friend. You want someone to protect," Methos spat, disgusted.

"Of course I want to protect you!" Duncan blurted out desperately before he could think. The absolute hatred emanating from Methos' Quickening after his outburst shook him to the core, and Duncan gasped as the pain hit him.

"That's it then, isn't it? I knew you sought me out to protect me from Kalas; that is no surprise. But to hear this  _now_ . . ." Methos waved his hand at MacLeod as he spoke, finishing by throwing it in the air. "No matter who you are with, you are always going to be the protector of the pair. The Clansman inside of you will never change; only get more fierce in protecting what is his. Well MacLeod, I am no longer yours."

Methos spun around and entered the lift, reaching up for the guard. "You are a piece of work, you know that MacLeod? A boyscout to the core. The damned white knight til the end." His expression hardened to cold fury. "Well I want no part of it." The guard slammed down and the elevator descended, taking Methos from Duncan's eyesight.

Duncan MacLeod was frozen for about three seconds, then he moved. Racing to the door, he bolted down the stairs, trying to catch up with Methos before he left the building.

Gulping in harsh gasps, Duncan reached the bottom of the stairs just as Methos reached the doors. "Stop," he wheezed, grabbing Methos' arm and turning him to face him. "I'll not let you walk away like this. You're not leaving like this!"

Methos glared down at the hand holding him, then up into MacLeod's eyes. "Are you going to stop me?" Methos stepped closer, raising his head to expose his neck as he hissed, "Are you willing to do it? Because that is the only way I will stay."

"What are you afraid of?" Duncan asked plaintively. He felt a jolt through his Quickening; saw a flicker of emotion in Methos' shuttered eyes: he had hit a nerve. Tightening his grip, Duncan dragged Methos to his office, tossing him in a chair.

"Oh, great. Kidnapping me now, MacLeod? Want to call the Valicourts for assistance?" Methos snapped, straightening his tangled coat.

Duncan locked the door and turned to the other Immortal. "It's not a kidnapping. I just want to talk to you."

Methos crossed his arms tightly across his chest, turning his face deliberately away from the Highlander.

Duncan calmed down, now that he had Methos where he couldn't run away from him. "Fine then. I'll talk, you listen." He walked to his desk, sitting on the corner. "Methos, it's been a crazy few months. I understand that you might be overwhelmed. I am too. But that's no excuse for what you've done."

"I have given my reasons," was all Methos had to say.

Duncan bristled, but willed himself to stay calm. Arguing had sent Methos running; he needed a different approach. Thinking quickly, he wheedled, "I know you have. I just don't think they were the whole story."

Methos shifted his entire body away from MacLeod, and the Scotsman sighed. "Okay, I'll tell you what I think. Let's go through this a bit at a time, shall we? First, you greet me at the barge, saying you want me to train with you. This startling revelation comes after  _weeks_ of discussion and pleading on my part. At first, I thought someone was after you," Duncan admitted, studying Methos' back. It was ramrod straight with tension.

He continued, "But then, when we arrive here, we start practicing and you nearly knock my head off. Not exactly the actions of someone who's out of practice. I think this entire thing has been a cover for something much bigger." Methos shifted subtly, Duncan's eyes taking in every movement. "Then, I hear from Richie that: one, you spoke to him, telling him about us, and two, that you hit him with some Quickening. We get into a fight, and he leaves in a fit of anger, telling me to talk to Joe. So, I go to Joe, who clams up when I mention you. The next time we meet, we fight again, ending with Joe throwing me out of the bar."

Duncan paused, waiting to see if Methos would say anything yet. When he didn't, he continued. "Would you like to hear my theory of what you've been doing? Hm? The elusive Methos? Hiding from everyone, especially other Immortals? I think you're trying to get away from all of us, me especially. But most of all," MacLeod moved to stand in front of Methos, keeping his face turned away from the older Immortal, "I think you're scared of me."

"That's preposterous!" Methos suddenly shouted, rocketing out of his chair.

"Is it?" Duncan turned to him, arms crossed, his expression blank. "Then why did it take that statement to get you to speak? You're not as elusive as you think, Methos. You're not special. You're just like the rest of us. You have the same feelings and insecurities as we do. You're just better at hiding them."

Methos' face was a twisted mask of fury. "You have  _no idea_ what you are talking about, MacLeod," he fumed, breathing harshly, his Quickening flickering with anger.

"Then why don't you tell me?" Duncan asked quietly.

The silence stretched out between them, their Quickenings stirring on the outskirts of their perceptions, a slow burn. "I have no intention of telling you anything," Methos finally answered, sitting back down, though he kept his wary gaze on the other Immortal.

"That's true," Duncan agreed. "You  _haven't_ *told me much of anything. But that doesn't matter, because I  _know_ you. You remember what I told you? When I said when we first met, that I knew you? That wasn't a lie."

Silence settled uneasily between them, then, "I know," came Methos' very soft reply.

At that, Duncan's eyes widened. "What?" His Quickening picked up pace, now a steady rumble between the two Immortals.

Methos regarded him steadily. "I said, I know. I know you weren't lying when you said you knew I was Methos."

Duncan struggled to understand. "So why are you going through all this if it's not about trust?"

"It _is_ about trust!" Methos exclaimed, his right hand clenching into a tight fist. "It's about me trusting you!"

"You don't trust me?" MacLeod gasped, stepping back as though he had been physically punched. His Quickening flared with hurt and anguish, directed at Methos.

"I don't trust _me_ ," the ancient Immortal mumbled, slumping in the chair, his entire demeanor dejected. He twitched with MacLeod's anger, but fought to keep it at bay. His own Quickening was surging, and he struggled to keep it under control.

Duncan stared at him, then fell into his chair, his hands dangling off the armrests. His entire body felt boneless; shocked at what Methos had just revealed. "You don't trust yourself around me? Are you afraid you'll take my head?"

"No, no," Methos snarled impatiently. "Damn it MacLeod!" he yelled, cradling his head in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration. "You don't understand anything!"

"Then help me to understand," MacLeod whispered, leaning forward in the chair.

Methos studied him for a minute, breathing harshly. "I doubt you can. No one alive can."

"Stop talking in riddles and just _tell me_ ," MacLeod demanded softly.

Methos was silent for a full minute, gathering his thoughts. He kept his gaze on the floorboards as he softly recounted, "MacLeod, I have been alive for over five thousand years. In that time, I have revealed my true self to less than one hundred people, mostly to mortals. I am not a very trusting person." He paused, lifting his gaze to MacLeod's. "Yet I trusted you implicitly upon laying eyes on you. I do not understand why. It was foolhardy and completely unlike me. _I_ have become completely unlike me since the day we met."

The silence fell again, though this time, MacLeod felt he understood the oldest living Immortal a bit more. "And that frightens you."

"That _terrifies_ me," Methos corrected with a harsh whisper. "I don't know who I am anymore. Do you have any idea what that means for one of us? For me?"

"Yes, I do," Duncan answered quietly. He looked directly into Methos' eyes. "And you helped me find myself again."

Methos closed his eyes, lowering his head. "This is much more than a Dark Quickening, MacLeod. I don't think there's a magical spring to help me."

"Methos, you're still talking in riddles. Unless you tell me what's wrong, I can't help you." Duncan waited for Methos to answer, but he kept silent, his head bowed. "Methos? You said you trusted me without question. Trust me now. Tell me what I can do."

"Quit being so bloody helpful!" Methos suddenly shouted, rising out of his seat. "You've done enough already, don't you think?"

Duncan just stared at the Ancient Immortal, at a loss for words.

"Do you feel this?" Methos concentrated, letting his emotions pour into his Quickening.

Duncan gasped, feeling like a thousand pound weight had just settled on his chest. His Quickening jumped to life, stronger than it ever had, and he started to hyperventilate. "Methos, I can't breathe," he gasped. The weight lifted somewhat, and he struggled to breathe normally.

Methos opened his eyes, his body shaking. "That is what I now feel. That is what I cannot control anymore. If I continue to stay here, it will only get worse. I will lose all my control. I cannot allow that to happen."

"But what happened?" MacLeod demanded, trying to understand what Methos was telling him. "You can't control your Quickening anymore?"

"It seems not," Methos snarled, crossing his arms. "There have been two things to change recently in my life. First, there was the fight with Richie. And then there was you."

"Me? Are you saying I did this to you?" MacLeod's voice was filled with pain that Methos chose to ignore.

"I cannot say. There are too many new variables in my life." Methos sighed impatiently. "I must leave, MacLeod, to protect myself. Surely you can understand that."

"No!" Duncan shouted, rising to his feet. His features twisted in anguish, and he added, "Yes. I do understand. But you don't have to leave," he reached out a hand to the other Immortal.

Methos backed up a step, out of MacLeod's reach. "Do not try to stop me, MacLeod. I do not want to have to kill you."

Methos was breathing harshly as he stared at Duncan, his Quickening reaching out toward MacLeod's. Their Quickenings swirled together, almost a living thing, and MacLeod got a glimpse into Methos' soul.

Duncan stared at the oldest living Immortal, his eyes wide with sudden understanding. "You could never kill me."

"Oh? You now know my every move, my every thought?" Methos hissed, no longer trying to hide his emotions. "You are just another Immortal, MacLeod. There can be only One. And I intend that One to be me."

"Big talk from the Ancient One," Duncan announced suddenly with a touch of sarcasm. "But I think I'm more important to you than you're admitting."

Methos scoffed, "What are you blathering on about?"

Duncan's eyes twinkled as he 'struggled' to remember, "What was it you told me once? You've never fallen in love with another Immortal - too much of a commitment, I believe you said?"

"I said I never married one," Methos impatiently snapped. "I never said I didn't fall in love with -- where are you going with this?" His Quickening fluttered nervously, and he wasn't quick enough to hide it from Duncan.

MacLeod smirked with a very self-satisfied look on his face. "Methos, I got to you when I asked if you were scared. Now, seeing as you've lived this long, I figured that not much would scare you. Your erratic behavior since we arrived in the States, combined with the strange way Joe and Richie were behaving towards me, said something's up. You," MacLeod poked Methos in the chest with his finger, "are a classic manipulator. You try to control everyone and everything around you. Well, I hate to disappoint you, but your little ploys are even thinner than some of Amanda's stunts. Why?" he suddenly asked.

"Why what?" Methos stammered, taking a step back.

MacLeod followed him, taking two steps forward. "Why all this? Why try to turn Richie and Joe against me?"

"I wasn't turning them against you, I was turning them against me - aw, _fuck_!" Methos spluttered as he realized he had been tricked. He turned away from the Highlander quickly, trying to dampen his Quickening. But it was already raging with anger, desire, and fear. He made a move to the door.

MacLeod caught him by the shoulders, halting Methos' attempt to leave. "No you don't, Methos. You snuck away from me in the middle of the night the first time. I'll not let you get away while I'm standing right here."

"Let go of me," Methos snarled, sounding angry, but his Quickening was kicking out a symphony of emotions in counterpoint to that anger.

Duncan just held him there, waiting for the Ancient Immortal to stop struggling. When he finally did, Duncan asked, "So, are you ready to tell me why you were trying to turn Joe and Richie against you?"

Methos tried one more shoulder jerk, but he wasn't about to break MacLeod's grip. "You're so bloody smart, you tell me."

"I'd rather hear it from you," Duncan whispered.

"MacLeod!" Methos' voice rang through the dojo, frustrated and panicky. "Let me go." His breathing was growing more labored as MacLeod's Quickening swirled with his. Duncan's desire was calling to him, and Methos feared that -- very soon -- he wouldn't be able to deny it.

"No," Duncan murmured in his ear. "Not until you give me some straight answers."

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Methos' face, and he swallowed hard. "I've never given a straight answer in my life. You expect me to start now?"

MacLeod spun Methos in his arms, shaking him slightly. "Yes, I do. I'm tired of playing games, Methos. Out with it. What is all this about?"

"You, all right! It's about you!" Methos succeeded in shoving MacLeod away as his grip loosened with shock. He struggled to compose himself, but his Quickening was in a forceful rage. "I tried to do this the easy way MacLeod, but you would not let me. So now we do it the hard way." With a quick movement, his sword appeared in his hand. "Fight me."

"I'll not fight you," MacLeod spluttered, astonished.

"Then die," Methos growled, taking a swing at the Highlander.

MacLeod jumped back, grabbing the sword he kept on his desk. Brandishing it defensively, he pleaded, "You don't have to do this, Methos."

"Yes, I do," Methos declared, swinging. Duncan blocked the blow easily, confusion distracting him for a second. A second that Methos used to his advantage. Stepping left, Methos faked a thrust and drove his blade deeply between MacLeod's ribs.

MacLeod gasped, his sword clattering to the floor. "Methos," he croaked, pain twisting his features. Blood soaked his shirt, his hands flailing helplessly as Methos ripped the sword from his body.

Groaning, MacLeod dropped to his knees, trying to cradle his chest and stop the flow of blood. He felt his life-essence start to fade, and raised his head to stare incredulously at Methos. "Why?" he gasped, jarring himself as his hand shot out to keep him upright.

"Because love hurts, MacLeod," Methos hissed dangerously, tucking his sword back into his coat. He grabbed his duffel bag, stepped over the dying Highlander, and shut the door behind him.

"Love?" Duncan managed to whisper before the world turned black and he fell to the floor.

~~~~~~

Joe's eyes followed Methos as he walked out of the dojo and turned left. "Can you follow him at a safe distance?" he asked the Immortal next him.

"I will," Richie answered, his face set in hard lines.

The two of them had just finished a discussion about Michael Litteken and MacLeod, but both had come to different conclusions about what to do about it.

Joe knew it would be impossible to force Methos to stay, but he figured some good old fashioned badgering would go a long way. While Richie . . . he wanted Michael's head. Not just for the attacks; not just for Mac. But for all of them. Michael -- or whoever he really was, was too close to MacLeod. It left Richie feeling uncomfortable.

"Rich," Joe reminded him softly, "You can't take his head. No matter how much you want to, you can't. Imagine what it would do to MacLeod. You don't want him to go through that pain again, do you?"

Richie focused his attention to the lithe figure moving steadily away from the dojo. "No, I don't," he admitted. "But you don't know what he's capable of."

"Yes, I do," Joe corrected him. "I also know what _you're_ capable of. Promise me, Richie, that you'll talk to him. Just talk."

Richie fought with his conscience, and his new overwhelming desire to fight. "All right. I'll just talk to him." As Richie watched Michael get into a rented car and take off, he frowned in concentration. "Why isn't Mac following him?"

"Uh-oh," Joe murmured. "Change of plan. You check the dojo. He's not dead," he reminded Richie. "We would have seen the Quickening. I'll go after Michael."

"How are you going to defend yourself from Michael?" Richie demanded. At Joe's scathing look, he relented. "All right, all right. I'm going. Just be careful, okay?"

"I will. Take care of MacLeod, okay?"

"Okay." Richie opened the car door, climbed out and slammed the door shut again. Poking his head inside, he said, "Joe, get that sonuvabitch."

"I will," the Watcher grunted, starting the car. Richie backed away as the car did a neat U-turn, then sped off after Michael. Taking a deep breath, Richie jogged across the street to the dojo.

~~~~

"Aw man, what a mess," Richie sighed upon seeing MacLeod. He still hadn't woken up, and the wound had just now started to close. Blood squished under his sneakers as he carefully lifted Duncan off the floor. "You're gonna be pissed when you wake up Mac," he whispered to himself as he deposited the Immortal into his chair. He went to get a mop and started in on the floor, waiting to feel the first tingling of the Buzz. When it started, he put the mop away and settled on the couch, waiting for MacLeod to become fully conscious.

With a painful gasp, air rushed back into MacLeod's lungs, causing him to cough uncontrollably, tasting blood.

"Here," Richie tossed him a towel, which MacLeod used to clean himself up a bit. He finally looked up at Richie, confused.

"When did you get here?" he rasped.

Richie sighed deeply. "Right after Michael left."

MacLeod was on his feet at that, looking ready to run through the door.

"Easy Mac. Dawson's gone after him. What happened in here? Did you two fight?" Richie asked, looking pointedly at MacLeod's sword on the floor.

Duncan kept his gaze on the door, as if he expected Methos to waltz back through it. "He ran me through," he stated, his voice full of disbelief.

"I gathered that," Richie commented dryly. "But what I meant was,  _why_ did he run you through?"

"I don't know," MacLeod said softly, reaching out with his Quickening. Closing his eyes, he thought he felt Methos' Buzz, but it was too faint to tell.

"What do you mean, you don't know? Mac, the man attacked me, then he attacked you. Aren't you the least bit interested in taking his head?" Richie asked.

"No!" MacLeod suddenly snapped, eyes blazing with emotion. "I won't take his head, and neither will you."

Richie gaped at him. "Are you insane? Mac, he's dangerous. He can't be allowed to..."

MacLeod pulled Richie to his feet by the front of his jacket. "I said, leave him be," he enunciated clearly. "Is that understood?"

"No, Mac, it isn't." Richie broke MacLeod's grip on him and backed up a step. "I know you care about him. But he's  _dangerous_."

"He's not dangerous!" MacLeod hissed. "But _I_ will be if you go after him."

"Now you're threatening  _me_? Mac, you have totally gone over the deep end. I think we better..." he reached for MacLeod's arm.

"Don't touch me," MacLeod hissed, jerking his arm out of Richie's grasp. "You don't know what's going on. I'm not entirely sure what's happened myself, but I'm getting there. Do you know where he went?"

"You want to follow him." Richie shook his head in amazement. "Mac, I don't think I trust you alone with him."

"Fine, then come with me," the Highlander snapped. "But I have to find him. I have to talk to him."

"I don't know where he was going. He headed left, and the last I saw him, he was still going straight. He could be heading for the airport..." Richie mused, but Duncan cut him off.

"No. He's going to _Joe's_. Come on," Duncan grabbed his coat and car keys. He looked back at Richie from the doorway. "Coming or not?"

"Coming," Richie sighed, resigned. Maybe he could offer MacLeod some protection. Yeah, and maybe he would make an easy Quickening for the other Immortal. Sighing again, he followed Mac to the T-bird.

~~~~

Joe followed about three cars behind the oldest living Immortal, concentrating so much on staying out of sight that it took him awhile to realize where they were headed.  _My bar_? he thought, eyebrows raising. Well, if Methos intended to talk to the owner, he was going to have to wait a bit. Joe stopped for a red light, watching the rented car turn right two blocks in front of him.

He picked up his cell phone and dialed the bar. "Hey Mike - yeah, look. Pierson might drop by soon, so could you just let him in? Yeah, get him a beer or something. I have to talk to him. Thanks." That settled, he waited for the light to change, wondering why Methos would be going to see him.

~~~~

MacLeod pulled the T-bird into _Joe's_ parking lot, feeling the overpowering signal of Methos. "He's here," he declared in a hushed voice.

"I can't feel him," Richie shot Duncan a puzzled look. "Did your range increase or something?"

Duncan shook his head, extracting himself from the car. "No. Not really. Only with him." The car doors were slammed shut, and the two Immortals walked into _Joe's_.

The light was dim, and coming in from the bright sunshine, the two Immortals squinted until their eyes adjusted. Richie followed the Buzz, staring warily at Methos, sitting in a far corner table. Richie glanced to MacLeod, and was stunned by his reaction.

MacLeod stepped back as if he'd been punched, gasping. Methos' Quickening was radiating intense hatred and frustration, causing MacLeod's own anger to flourish. His expression darkening, MacLeod took measured steps over to Methos. "Why?" he demanded, staring down at Methos.

"Why do you think?" the older Immortal snapped.

"Just because you've lost your ability to control your Quickening is no reason to  _leave_ ," Duncan argued.

"Isn't it?" Methos' knuckles were white on his beer bottle. "I think I am a danger to those around me. That includes you, MacLeod." He glared up at him, adding coldly, "I've already run you through once. Do you want me to finish the job?"

"Don't try that again," Duncan warned. "It didn't work before, and it won't work now. You  _can't_ kill me."

Methos glared at Duncan, but refused to answer. His Quickening was still sending out waves of emotion, as powerful as water gushing out of a broken dam, and Duncan felt himself drowning in it.

MacLeod struggled to breathe, suddenly clutching the back of a chair. "Please. Stop," he wheezed, pressing the heel of his hand against his chest.

"I can't," Methos snarled, though sweat broke out on his forehead. A tremor shook Methos' body, and MacLeod's eyes snapped shut against the onslaught.

"What are you doing to him?" Richie demanded, coming up behind MacLeod. "Stop it, whatever you're doing," he threatened Methos, placing a hand on Duncan's arm to pull him away. Energy immediately shot up his arm, and he jerked it back, gasping in pain.

"What in the hell is going on?" Joe demanded, entering his bar. He joined the trio of Immortals around the table, watching as each of them nursed different parts of their anatomy. Richie was flexing his hand, Duncan was holding his chest, and Methos was rubbing his temples. And none of them were talking.

"I asked a question," Joe's voice rang with authority, drawing Richie's attention.

"I don't know," Richie whispered, shooting a wary glare to Methos before stepping away from him. "It's between them."

Duncan straightened, his face dark with anger. "So that's how it's going to be?" he asked Methos, ignoring Joe's question.

Methos raised his eyes to MacLeod's. "That is how it's going to be," the oldest Immortal replied coldly. He stood up slowly, his Quickening raging about him. Richie took another step back, wishing MacLeod would do the same.

MacLeod felt a flicker of movement in Methos' Quickening, and quickly reached out and grabbed the Immortal's arm before he could act. Pulling him in close, Duncan threatened, "You're not leaving just yet."

Methos shot more intense anger at MacLeod through his Quickening. "Remove your hand," he declared, each syllable pronounced through clenched teeth.

Methos' voice commanded immediate attention, and Duncan nearly dropped the other Immortal's arm in surprise. His eyes were nearly black as he turned to Joe. "Mind if I borrow your office?" he asked Joe, his tone suggesting that it was not a question.

"Be my guest," Joe indicated, heading to the bar. This was all too much for him, and he needed a drink. A stiff one. Maybe two.

"If you'll excuse us..." MacLeod's hand clamped on Methos' upper arm, forcibly dragging the world's oldest Immortal to the back office, Methos protesting all the way.

"Release me. You have no right to treat me like this. MacLeod, if I could reach my sword, I would take your head where you stand..."

"Shut up," MacLeod hissed, shoving Methos into the room and shutting the door behind him. Methos stumbled into the desk, his momentum bending him over the top, all the air rushing out of his lungs. Holding his bruised mid-section, he labored for air as he gasped, "Are we going for the torture route, MacLeod?" His breathing evened out, and he shook his head. "That won't work either," Methos taunted. "Been there, done that. Had it done to me as well. Don't think I can't take it."

"I said shut up, Methos." Duncan crossed the small office, towering over the other Immortal. "You want it this way? Fine." Focusing on Methos, he directed his Quickening at the Ancient Immortal. Sparks tingled along Duncan's body, and a few reached out and hit Methos, who gasped and returned the feeling back along his Quickening. Duncan's body shook and his legs almost failed him, but he kept his concentration.

Methos' hands began to shake, and sweat started rolling down his face as he fought to regain his control. Duncan's Quickening pushed at him, demanding he give up, and Methos fought it with every bit of energy he had. With a cry, he fell over the desk, the fingers of one hand wrapped tightly in his hair. The Quickening died down, and MacLeod slumped to the floor. Both were breathing heavily, the air still charged between them.

Methos was the first to recover, raising his head and fixing his unsteady gaze at MacLeod. "This is your fault. None of this would have happened if we had not gotten involved."

"Oh, I doubt that," Duncan laughed humorlessly, pulling himself to his feet. "It was only a matter of time. You can't build up Quickening like that. It's not natural."

"Who's to say? Just because no one else has managed it?" Methos straightened, grimacing. "It is possible. I just proved it."

"And why?" Duncan asked, rubbing at his chest absently.

Methos blinked lingering haze from his mind, focusing on MacLeod. "What? Why what?"

"Why is this possible? Why has it never happened with any other Immortal?" Duncan demanded.

A knowing look settled over Methos' features. "Oh, it's happened. The Watchers have no record of it because the last time this happened, the Watchers weren't an organization."

"So it has happened before. To you," MacLeod breathed, his Quickening stirring again as he began to understand.

"To me," Methos confirmed, shaking off the last of their 'fight.' "A very, very long time ago. I didn't think it could ever happen again."

"So why is it happening now?" MacLeod demanded. "Why between us? Why with me?"

"I cannot say MacLeod," Methos evaded, keeping his eyes away from Duncan and forcing himself to reign in his Quickening. "Maybe the planets are aligned..."

"No!" MacLeod shouted. "Tell me the truth."

"I do not know any truth other than that, MacLeod," Methos answered, a veiled threat in his eyes.

Duncan took Methos by the shoulders, forcing the older Immortal to look him in the eye. "Yes, you do. This is possible because you love me, damn it!"

MacLeod stared in astonishment as Methos started to laugh. It started quietly, then grew to uncontrollable levels, leaving Methos gasping for air. "Love, MacLeod? I don't love you."

"That's a lie," Duncan hissed, his Quickening beginning to come to life.

Methos snorted. "I don't need to lie, Highlander. You're an easy lay. Pop into town, spin a woeful tale, and I'm in your bed." He adopted a curious look. "Is that how Amanda does it?" he taunted, his head snapping back as MacLeod's fist connected with his jaw.

"You shit. I can't believe you!" Duncan raged, his Quickening stirring around him. "This is a lie?" he hissed, kissing Methos forcefully. "And this?" MacLeod bit Methos sharply on his shoulder, causing him to cry out.

"If you force me, I swear I'll..." Methos began to threaten, but MacLeod's laugh cut his protest off.

"What? You'll take my head? I know you can't do that. Not when I have you like this," Duncan twisted Methos' arms behind his back, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "So I am free to do whatever I want."

Methos' eyes darkened to black. "This is rape, MacLeod."

MacLeod barely flinched. "I'm sure you've suffered worse. Am I right? Mr. 'torture me or be tortured?' Don't make me laugh. I already  _know_ your weaknesses, Methos. And this is one of them," Duncan bent his head to Methos' neck, scraping his teeth along his neck.

"Agh, MacLeod, don't...let me go...damn you to hell!" Methos shouted as MacLeod nipped his skin again, fire surging through their Quickenings.

"Say it Methos," MacLeod growled.

"Say what - ooh," Methos groaned, distracted by MacLeod's teeth along his jaw.

"When you ran me through. When you were bending over me, leaving me to die on the floor. What did you say?" MacLeod whispered savagely, bending Methos backwards over the desk.

"I don't know what..." he broke off in a gasp as MacLeod bit sharply on his ear, "...talking about. Sacre bleu." Their Quickenings were raging with all the force of a tornado, sparks dancing across their skin.

MacLeod kept up his questions, leaving Methos too distracted and breathless to think. "What were you trying to do, challenging me? Did you want me to take your head? Did you want to die, is that it?"

"No...don't know..." Methos groaned, working his leg between Duncan's thighs. "Can't you leave it alone..."

"No, I won't leave it alone, Methos. I'm going to keep this up until you tell me what I want to hear." MacLeod brought his knee up sharply between Methos' legs, catching and holding Methos' erection tight. "You're just like us now. You lost your advantage. Being at a disadvantage sucks, doesn't it?"

Methos groaned, stretching on his toes to relieve the pressure against him. "MacLeod, you're hurting me," he gasped.

"You hurt me," Duncan hissed in Methos' ear, moving his leg up a bit. "And Richie." He moved his thigh higher, settling it firmly between Methos' thighs. "And Joe," he breathed, beginning to rub his thigh against Methos' erection rhythmically.

Methos felt everything spiraling out of control, felt his Quickening reach out and finally connect with MacLeod's. The air charged between them, and a blue flash went from one to the other. "This is it, Duncan," he gasped, trying to focus on the Scotsman. "Either you take me, or you kill me."

Duncan eased up on him, loosening his tight grip on Methos' arms. "What are you talking about?" he gasped, suddenly having trouble breathing.

"Either fuck me or kill me, makes no difference at this point. Do you feel that?" Methos breathed deeply, then lowered himself onto MacLeod's thigh, rubbing sensually. A jolt of pure pleasure ran through MacLeod, sparking his Quickening, and he moaned. "Our Quickenings are too close. Either you fuck me, or you kill me. Doesn't matter to the Game."

Duncan just blinked at Methos for a few seconds, then whispered, "But what will happen?"

Methos grew intently serious as he regarded MacLeod. "I don't know. I just know that the pressure has to be relieved." He moaned again, feeling pain now. "MacLeod, fuck me  _now_!" Methos commanded, latching his mouth onto the Highlander's. Fierce, hard, demanding, desperate, he clutched Duncan to him, his arms locked around the broader Immortal.

Duncan couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His head spun with their combined Quickening, feeling it louder in his ears, stronger in his own Quickening than ever before. Whimpering slightly, his hands bunched at Methos' back.

Methos tore his lips from MacLeod's, his breath harsh and loud in the quiet room. "Fuck me, MacLeod," he hissed, wrenching off his coat and throwing it aside. "Now." He stood up, undoing his jeans and shoving them down, trying to keep his mouth in contact with MacLeod's skin the entire time.

Duncan reached around Methos, shoving paperwork to the floor, kissing Methos anywhere he could reach him. Methos' hands worked at MacLeod's pants, undoing the fly and releasing his erection. Pumping Duncan smoothly, he brought the Scot to a tight erection, then leaned back on the desk. "I have to have you," Methos rasped, locking his mouth on Duncan's.

MacLeod worked blindly, finding Methos' sex and stroking it firmly, his other hand trying to pull Methos' legs up. "Damn," he cursed, dropping to his knees and yanking Methos' jeans the rest of the way off. Unable to resist the temptation, his mouth closed over the rosy tip of the other Immortal's sex, escalating his own need even higher. After a minute of sucking at him, Duncan raised his head, bringing Methos' legs with him as he stood.

The desire to bury himself in his lover was overwhelming. "I'm sorry, I can't..." Duncan breathed, panting furiously as his sex butted against Methos' ass.

"Do it," Methos hissed, rocking his hips.

Duncan reached under Methos, positioning his sex at Methos' opening. With a cry, MacLeod drove into Methos, shuddering at the tight grip around his cock.

Throwing his head back, a scream worked it's way up Methos' throat, worked it's way up centuries, to finally be heard. A primal scream of pain, of lust, of anger and fear, of love and passion.

~~~~~~

Joe sipped at his bourbon, watching Richie intently. The young Immortal was flushed, keeping his eyes locked on the door to Joe's office.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" the Watcher asked wryly.

"What?" Richie dragged his focus from the door and fixed on Joe. "What did you say?"

"I asked if there was something you'd like to tell me. Like, will I have an office left when they get done?" Joe quipped, raising his glass and taking a sip.

"Uh, I don't know," Richie admitted, his eyes sliding back to the door. "But whatever they're doing, it's intense."

Joe nearly spit out his drink. "You can feel them?"

"Yeah...oh," Richie moaned, just as they both heard a scream.

"What the hell?" Joe cried, rising to his feet. The lights flickered above them, and a breeze blew under the door. Joe started for his office, only to be stopped by Richie.

"Don't Joe."

"Why? What's happening in there?" Joe demanded. "It looks like a Quickening!"

"It's not," Richie breathed. "At least, not a Quickening like you're thinking of."

"What?" Joe watched the young Immortal, his eyebrows raising at the look in his eyes. "No," he breathed.

"Uh-huh," Richie gulped, trying to regulate his breathing. "That was intense."

"You experienced it?"  _Damn, must be nice to be Immortal_! Joe thought.

"No, not really." Richie tried to put into words what he felt. "It was like I got an aftershock. But what an aftershock," he admitted, his pupils dilated. "Um, could you say good-bye to them for me? I - forgot I have to meet someone..."

Joe smiled knowingly. "Go ahead. I'll send them your love. Assuming they emerge some time this century," he quipped.

"Thanks Joe," Richie sighed with intense relief. "Later."

Joe settled back down at his bar, drained the last of his drink, and waited to hear the story on  _this_ Quickening.

~~~~~~

Duncan rested his head against the desk, lying on the floor where he had fallen. Methos was sprawled across the desk, panting heavily.

"Are you-" Duncan choked, his throat thick. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Are you all right?"

Groaning, Methos shifted to a sitting position. "I think so." He shoved himself off the desk, dropping to the floor next to MacLeod. "What about you?"

Duncan rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. "I think so. That was-"

"Intense," Methos finished for him. He regarded Duncan carefully, seeing traces of pain lining his mouth. "You're not all right." He reached up and touched Duncan's jaw, inhaling sharply.

The jolt through his Quickening answered for MacLeod better than anything the Immortal could have said. "I see. Well, it looks like we connected," Methos mused.

Duncan suddenly sat up, his eyes wide. "I can feel you."

"Connected," Methos repeated. "We would have either killed each other or joined. It looks like our Quickenings decided they liked each other."

"But-" MacLeod struggled to comprehend what Methos was trying to tell him; what his Quickening already felt. "This isn't possible."

"I'd say it was," Methos replied, hiding his amused grin. He took one of MacLeod's hands and started to explain. "Nearly three thousand years ago, I was involved with another Immortal. We were as close as we are now, and we experienced something similar to what just occurred." He paused, suddenly shivering. He reached around himself and pulled on his pants. "But our Quickenings didn't merge. We weren't sure what exactly happened. She assumed I had done something, but no matter what I told her, she didn't believe me." His voice dropped to a whisper as he finished the tale. "She got her blade and tried to take my head. I had no choice but to kill her."

Duncan felt the emotions Methos was experiencing, and felt tears welling in his eyes. "Och, Methos, I dinna mean for this to happen."

"I know you didn't, Highlander," Methos replied, keeping his gaze averted from MacLeod's. "But it was inevitable. I set this in motion myself. I had to see it to it's outcome." He finally raised his eyes to MacLeod's. "Wherever it took me."

Duncan caressed Methos' cheek. "But it dinna have to be this way," he indicated the office around them. "I forced you to this. For that, I'm truly sorry."

"Don't be sorry!" Methos snapped, his Quickening flaring, then just as quickly, settling down.

"Then what do you want me to be?" Duncan asked softly, more than one question being asked in that statement.

Methos regarded him frankly, slipping into Duncan's arms. "I want you to be Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," he whispered, kissing him softly, his Quickening filling with the words he could not form, and giving them to MacLeod.

Duncan broke the kiss, smiling tenderly at Methos. "Och, I feel the same way," he whispered, tracing a line down Methos' face with a fingertip.

"If it means anything now, I am sorry for what I've put you through in the last few days," Methos apologized softly, leaning into Duncan's touch.

"It means something," MacLeod assured Methos, kissing him lightly. "It always has."

~~~~~~

Joe sighed and took another sip of his coffee. He only had an hour before he had to open, and he wasn't sure what condition his office was in. Just then, the door opened, and he stood up as Methos emerged.

"Hi Joe," he greeted the bartender with a sheepish grin. "Um, sorry about the mess in there. We'll clean it up. Do you have a broom?" the Immortal asked.

"Over there," Joe jerked his thumb in the direction of the bar, keeping his eyes on Methos the entire time. "So," he began loudly, "Are you staying?"

Methos whirled, glaring at the Watcher. "For the time being," he hissed, keeping his voice low. "I have some things I need to take care of first." His expression softened as he walked over to Joe. "I am truly sorry for the trouble I have caused you, Joe. Next time I see Richie, I'll apologize to him as well. But I fear I've done you a great disservice."

Joe's sarcasm melted at the sincerity Methos exuded. "No sweat," he remarked casually. "All in the name of love, right?"

"Right," Methos drawled, a grin suddenly lighting his face. "Um, is it all right if we use your office for a bit more? We still have some things to -- talk about."

"I open in an hour," Joe warned the Immortal. "But you can use it for about another half hour."

"Thanks Joe. We should be done by then." Methos turned and went back to the office, closing the door with barely a click to be heard.

~~~~~~~~

"What did he say?" MacLeod demanded as Methos turned from the door.

"A half hour. He has to open in less than one hour," Methos replied, setting the broom against the wall.

Duncan looked at the mess their joined Quickening had made. "We have to clean this up before then."

"I know that," Methos snapped, then hissed as MacLeod sent him guilt along his Quickening. "I hate that, you know."

"I know," MacLeod smirked. "But it's a great way to get my point across." He suddenly moaned as intense pleasure poured through his Quickening. "Don't say it unless you mean it," he growled.

"Oh, I mean it, Highlander. It will just have it wait until later," Methos grinned, shifting through papers on the desk. His smile disappeared as he tried to organize the files. "You had to get wild and not pay attention to what you were tossing, didn't you MacLeod?"

MacLeod grabbed the papers out of Methos' hands. "I didn't see you restraining yourself either."

Methos playfully 'punched' MacLeod's Quickening, and Duncan sent the punch right back, smirking. "Let's get this done so we can  _leave_ ," Duncan pleaded.

"All right, all right. Hand me that pile from the floor."

~~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later, Duncan and Methos emerged from the back office, greeted by a standing ovation and applause from the owner. "And with fifteen minutes to spare," Joe teased, walking over to the two Immortals.

"Har-har," Duncan remarked, while Methos just smirked. Duncan shot Methos a glare, and Methos' grin widened.

"Will I be seeing you two anytime in the next week?" Joe asked, sensing a rare closeness between the two Immortals.

"It's possible," Methos answered, just when MacLeod said, "I doubt it." It was Methos' turn to glare at Duncan, and Joe just shook his head.

"Okay, whatever. Go on, get out of here. How's my office look?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Just fine," MacLeod answered.

"Good as new," Methos chimed in.

"Oh boy," Joe sighed. "You're lucky I'm not in the mood to send this to HQ. It would be fitting revenge."

Methos grew intensely serious as he pleaded, "Joe, please don't mention this in any report or chronicle. It could ruin the lives of many Immortals, mine most definitely."

Joe shook his head. "No, I won't mention it anywhere. Who would believe me if I did? No, go on. You don't have anything to worry about from me."

"Thank you, Joseph," Methos replied solemnly, with MacLeod adding in his thanks. The two Immortals turned to leave, but turned back when Joe called after them.

"Wait! I forgot to give you a message. Richie sends his love."

MacLeod's eyes widened. "Richie!" He turned to Methos. "Oh, he wouldn't have, would he?  _Could_ he?"

Methos' eyes met MacLeod's, and he nearly burst into laughter. "He might have. We'll have to ask him next time we see him."

"That'll be an awkward conversation," MacLeod remarked.

"Oh, I think you'll be able to handle it," Methos shot back.

"Me? Why should I tell him? You started this!"

"Don't go blaming me, MacLeod. You had just as much to do with this than I did."

"Why I ought to..."

Joe sighed. It was back to business as usual around _Joe's_.

The end


End file.
